


How to Keep Your Pet Turtle Alive Amidst a Plot to Kill Him

by internallyscreamingdaily



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Friendship, Guilt, dealing with the Mighty Mutanimals' backstories, happy ending? we'll see, side characters get the spotlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internallyscreamingdaily/pseuds/internallyscreamingdaily
Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong and an enemy plot have the turtles essentially reliving the worst period of their lives. This time might be worse, though, having only one brother left with whom to make things right. (rated T for physical and psychological wounds)
Comments: 137
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Mutation Day!  
> It’s time for another fanfic, so buckle up, here we go! This fic is sort of combining ideas from a TMNT movie that never got made, and also some what-ifs about the farmhouse arc.  
> I’ll update every Sunday, but the frequency of updates might decrease when NaNoWriMo rolls around, as I want to spend some time working on my original novel.  
> Happy reading!

Leonardo left the dojo, sheathing his swords as he walked into the living area. “Ten minutes until patrol,” he reminded Raphael and Michelangelo as he walked past where they were watching TV on the couch.  
  
Raph kept his eyes on the TV. “Yes, fearless. We know. We have patrol at the same time every day.”  
  
“Still thought I’d remind you,” Leo said with a pointed look at Mikey. “Attendance hasn’t always been punctual, especially when you’re distracted.”  
  
Michelangelo pulled his eyes away from the screen and realized Leo had been talking to him. The glare from the TV clearly lit his sheepish grin and half-shrug.  
  
“As if we missed anything,” Raph said. “The Foot and Kraang have both been quiet for ages. We’re going to be out there for hours and nothing’s gonna happen, just like yesterday. And the day before that, and the one before that, and-”  
  
“Which means they’re due,” Leo interrupted. “We have to stay vigilant. They’ll attack any day now. And when they do, my bet is their force will be all the more deadly.”  
  
“Then would they hurry up? Between sitting on the rooftops and listening to your lectures, I’m gonna die of boredom quicker than I would in battle.”  
  
Leonardo shot Raphael a disapproving glare. He opened his mouth and took a step forward, jabbing a finger at Raph’s chest.  
  
“Guys!” Donatello exclaimed.  
  
The three looked at the lab’s doors in time to see their genius brother skid to a stop there.  
  
Donnie gestured for them to follow him into his lab. “I found something!”  
  
Raph and Leo exchanged a glare before Raph stood, swatting Leo’s accusing hand away, and followed Donnie into the lab.  
  
Leo humphed and followed, with Mikey right behind him.  
  
“What’s up, Donnie?” Mikey asked, propping his elbows on Donatello’s desk and his head in his hands. His eyes trailed across the desk to where the Kraang communication orb was plugged into Donnie’s computer.  
  
As if to answer his question, the orb started to hum rhythmically, pink dots flashing across its surface in circular patterns.  
  
Donatello rushed into his lab chair, spinning once before coming to rest in front of the screen with a mutter of “Again?”. He pulled the signal coming from the orb onto the computer, displaying a fast-moving stream of illegible Kraang chatter. “This is the second time it’s gone off.” With a few keystrokes, he coded the symbols to translate into English, and read the document as fast as he could, eyes flicking left to right as the words whizzed by on the screen. “Weird. This one says pretty much the same thing as the last. Why would they send the same thing twice?”  
  
“What is it, Donnie?” Leo asked.  
  
“It seems like the Kraang are establishing a new base in the middle of town,” Donnie explained. “These are instructions for the Kraang who’ve been assigned to that post.”  
  
The orb fell silent, and the words on-screen came to an end.  
  
“Alright!” Raph cracked his knuckles with a smirk. “I’ve been waiting for another chance to show those gum wads who’s boss!”  
  
Leo stopped Raph with an outstretched palm. “Hold up. I thought the orb was only supposed to go off when the Kraangs’ signals were overloaded. Like, when they’re about to launch something really big. Are you sure this isn’t something more than just making a new base?”  
  
Donnie scrolled through the text, searching it, then shook his head. “It looks like this base will be pretty small. It says something about mutagen-DNA testing, but if it was important to them, they’d pick somewhere bigger to be able to fit more security. Looks like we got the signal out of a messaging error. They were careless.” He chuckled. “It’s almost like they wanted us to catch them.”  
  
Raph twirled his sais. “Glad to.”  
  
Leo furrowed his brow. “I don’t think-”  
  
“Come on, fearless,” Raph interrupted, sheathing his sais. “You wouldn’t want to make us late for patrol now, would you?” He inclined his head towards the youngest turtle. “You’d be setting a bad example for Mikey.” He left, not letting Leo get in another word.  
  
Leo instead let out an exasperated sigh and followed him out of the lab and towards the exit. He stopped and turned to address Donnie. “You got any more retromutagen?”  
  
“Yeah, just one more dose,” Donatello replied. “The other batch is in progress.”  
  
“Bring it along,” Leo said. “Just in case. Get your weapons.”  
  
The youngest two complied, making sure they were ready for patrol, then promptly leaving.  
  
Unattended in the lab, the orb’s hum whirred to life a third time, its signal playing the exact same message on the computer’s screen.  
  
***  
  
“They’re learning,” was the first thing Donatello said when they arrived at the address the orb had given.  
  
While vague, the simple sentence struck an ominous chord with Leonardo. He knew exactly what Donnie was referring to, and agreed entirely.  
  
The Kraang hadn’t chosen a nameless, run-down complex or hole-in-the-wall corner for their base. This one was unsuspecting, a short, cute little red-brick building with brightly colored awnings and flowerbeds in its windows, complete with a welcome mat outside the front door. No passerby would think it suspicious. Amidst all the color, no one thought to notice that the sorry, we’re closed sign had been turned to its unwelcoming side for so long the sign had started to gray with sun and dust.  
  
Leo waited until the street was clear of humans, then signaled for them to move.  
  
The four dashed to the door and waited for Leo to pick the lock.  
  
The rusty hinges creaked open, and the four of them slunk into the dark, musty room.  
  
Once his eyes adjusted, Leo looked around and considered maybe the Kraang hadn’t arrived yet. There was nothing Kraang-y about the room.  
  
The little florist’s consisted of a few stands where bouquets were stacked in tiers, proudly displaying the finest, most expensive flowers in the middle where the customers were sure to see them. A trowel and watering can lay atop a cupboard with potting dirt spilling out of its cracked door, and Leo’s training led him to believe the spill was recent－dust hung in the air with the scent of earth so thick you could taste it. A few planters lay stacked around the cupboard in varying sizes and numbers.  
  
“This doesn’t seem right,” Donatello hissed. “Do you think they haven’t started working here yet?”  
  
“I thought so, too,” Raphael replied, “But a flower shop doesn’t need that many cameras.”  
  
Donatello and Leonardo looked up.  
  
Raph was right. Surveillance was thick and obvious, with so many cameras littered across the ceiling it was as if the owners wanted to see every angle of every customer at all times.  
  
“Donnie, I need you to find the tapes and wipe them.” Leo whispered. “If the Kraang haven’t taken this shop over yet, we risk the humans discovering us.”  
  
Donatello nodded and crept to the back of the shop, walking behind the counter and through an open doorway labelled EMPLOYEES ONLY.  
  
“Ooooooo, pretty,” Michelangelo murmured, eyes glued to a bright planter of flowers on display at the front desk. He picked up the pot of flowers and gave them a good sniff. “Huh. They don’t smell very pretty. Kinda metal-y, actually. But they look really pretty! Shiny.”  
  
“What?” Leo walked towards him and peered over Mikey’s shoulder.  
  
The flowers were, indeed, shiny, much more than flowers should be. “They’re fake, Mikey.”  
  
One of the flowers moved.  
  
Mikey shrieked and dropped the flowerpot.  
  
It crashed and split on the ground.  
  
“Mikey!” chorused three voices.  
  
Michelangelo ducked his head.  
  
Leo gasped as an iron shutter slammed over the door behind them and the lights went red.  
  
Raphael glared at his youngest brother. “Mikey, can you go two seconds without screwing something up?”  
  
Michelangelo made a strangled noise and pointed at the floor.  
  
Donatello jumped the counter to crouch beside him with a strangled “Woah…”  
  
There was no dirt spilled on the floor, no fragments of shattered pottery. Instead, the flower pot had cracked up the middle, the crack splitting the flowers as well, revealing sparkling wires and circuit boards.  
  
Donnie shifted one of the undamaged flowers, its metallic petals glinting in the red light with the movement, and examined its center. Where there should have been the pollen tube, a little lens looked back at him. “The flowers are cameras, too!”  
  
Raph drew his sais. “What the heck is going on?”  
  
An awful metallic groaning filled the room, then the back wall started to sink, revealing an elevator made of the familiar pink and silver design the turtles had seen in so many Kraang facilities.  
  
The turtles stared at the elevator, uneasily, as if it might explode. If they all jumped when it chimed and the doors slid open, no one said anything.  
  
“One way to find out.” Leo walked in.  
  
Donatello and Michelangelo looking at each other, Donatello’s eyebrows shooting up and Michelangelo letting out a whimper.  
  
They crowded into the elevator and watched their chance at escape disappear with the shutting doors.  
  
The elevator jolted, and they sank below ground.  
  
The four listened for any indication of Kraang, but heard only the whirring of the elevator and the occasional whoosh of the car passing a floor. The car came to a stop, and there was a moment of still before the ding. The doors slid open.  
  
Leo poked his head out. There were no Kraang to be found. Only an empty hallway extended in front of them.  
  
He signaled that the coast was clear, and the four dashed out and down the hall.  
  
There was only one option at the end of the hall, and that was to go right. This time, there was a pair of Kraangdroids at the beginning of the corridor, standing still and facing away from them. Easy targets.  
  
Leo rounded the corner and swung his swords in an X shape, slicing both of the robots with ease, and continuing on.  
  
Again, the only option was a right turn. This time, there were two pairs of Kraangdroids, both turned away from them, one at the beginning of the hall and one at the middle.  
  
He signaled for Raph to creep behind the first pair, then snuck towards the middle pair himself, knowing Raphael would have taken care of the first by the time they had the chance to spot him. So far, so good.  
  
He glanced behind him to find Donnie examining a camera on the ceiling.  
  
Crap. So much for stealth. As soon as the Kraang manning the cameras saw them, they were done for.  
  
But there hadn’t been an alarm yet, and Leo decided that the best option now was to keep going stealth until they were discovered.  
  
Left turn at the end of the hallway. Three pairs of Kraangdroids. More cameras. Again, the alarm did not sound, even when they came into view of the cameras.  
  
Another one-way turn at the end of the hallway.  
  
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient for them to connect all their halls instead of sending their droids through this maze?” Donnie whispered.  
  
Next corner. Four pairs. Four of them. No problem. More cameras.  
  
Next corner. Still four pairs, except this time, one of them was moving.  
  
Next corner. This time, some were facing them. Leo found it was like a puzzle, making him strategize how to proceed stealthily with each slight change.  
  
Next corner. A little trickier. More cameras, but still, there was no alarm, and they didn’t hear anyone coming.  
  
“Dude, it’s like the arcade games,” Mikey said. “Harder level each time. Who do you think the final boss is gonna be?”  
  
“This… something isn’t right,” Donnie hissed.  
  
“Yeah,” Leo agreed. “It’s definitely fishy.”  
  
“I feel like something’s missing.” Donatello clasped his hands under his chin, eyes flicking side to side. He gasped. “The Kraang!”  
  
“Uh, no crap, Sherlock.” Raph said.  
  
“No, not the robots, the actual Kraang piloting them. We only damaged their robot bodies, but none of the Kraang inside tried to escape or warn anyone.”  
  
Mikey ran back and peered down the previous corridor. The Kraang were still inside their no longer functional robot bodies, laying where they’d fallen.  
  
He rushed to rejoin his brothers, clinging closer by their sides than before. “Bros, this is freaky.”  
  
Raph looked at Leo. “What do we do?”  
  
Leo glanced around the next corner. “I’m gonna let them see me.”  
  
Before Donnie could get in his “Wait, what?”, Leonardo rushed around the corner, swords drawn, and waited.  
  
His brothers joined him.  
  
The Kraang facing them beeped, alerting the others, and they all raised their lasers.  
  
Leo stood still, staring them down.  
  
“Um, Leo?” Donnie asked. “What do we do?”  
  
“Don’t attack,” Leonardo replied.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Trust me.”  
  
“Kind of hard to when you want me to take enemy fire!”  
  
The Kraang, however, did not open fire.  
  
“Now, take them down!”  
  
Leo charged, katanas positioned to cut down the first two.  
  
“Now that’s more like it!” Raph yelled, leaping into the bulk of the Kraang.  
  
The robots opened fire now, allowing pink lasers to speckle the battlefield with an ever-decreasing number of Kraang on it.  
  
“Wow, Leo,” Raph chuckled. “These guys have worse aim than the enemy soldiers on your dorky Space Heroes show. What were they… thunder soldiers?”  
  
“Storm soldiers,” Leo corrected. “What are these guys up to? This isn’t their usual… anything!”  
  
“I know!” Donatello agreed. He swung at a Kraangdroid like a baseball.  
  
The blow sent the said Kraangdroid stumbling back into the wall, where the collision resounded with a hollow clink.  
  
“What?” Donnie approached the wall and gave it a good knock. “There’s something behind this!”  
  
“On it,” came Raph’s voice. He got a running start and proceeded to kick the wall, jarring an entire sheet of metal out of place.  
  
He and Donatello grabbed opposite sides of the sheet and freed it from the wall, then used it to throw at another robot.  
  
“Kraang! The turtles have found the place which is the place which the turtles were not intended to have found!” The bot couldn’t say any more, as Raph promptly sent a sai through its metal skull.  
  
Donnie gasped. “Guys! It’s a secret passage!”  
  
Michelangelo kicked the last droid to the ground.  
  
“Let’s see if we can find some answers,” Leo said, taking the lead down the passageway.  
  
This corridor looked like all the rest, but led to a heavily guarded door at the end.  
  
One of the guards spotted them. “Kraang! Open fire!”  
  
Raphael yelled and ducked into his shell as a laser flew over where his head had been a second ago. “Wait, these Kraang are actually trying to shoot us. What’s up with that?”  
  
“Turtles, attack!”  
  
They dashed forward, this time weaving and dodging to avoid the laser blasts coming towards them.  
  
The Kraang fought fiercely, but ultimately, there were not enough of them to guard the door, and one by one, they fell into a pile of metal scraps, their alien brains screaming and scattering away.  
  
Raph pulled the head off of one of the robots and scanned it at the door.  
  
The door admitted the four of them onto a balcony overlooking the main floor of the room.  
  
A console by the door immediately drew Donnie’s attention, and he examined a drive plugged into it.  
  
“Secret enemy data?” He said, hacking the console to eject the drive. He took and pocketed the little device. “Don’t mind if I do.” He then redirected his focus to examining the main room.  
  
It had the same layout as the room at the top of the Worldwide Genome Project building, with a giant vat of mutagen in the center of it and labelled tubes of DNA lining the walls, ready to empty into the mutagen as commanded. A troupe of armed Kraangdroids stood guarding Traag, the Rock giant, as another robot worked at a control panel beside the mutagen.  
  
“Look at the labels,” Raph whispered, indicating the DNA tubes. “Bear, jellyfish, shark, lion… they got rid of all the lame animals from last time.”  
  
“You mean they kept all the dangerous ones,” Donatello realized aloud, a sinking feeling in his gut.  
  
The Kraangdroid readying the mutagen finalized the command, and DNA from all the tanks combined into the mutagen. The robot then filled a bucket with the altered mutagen and brought it over to Traag.  
  
“Ohhhhhhhhh no,” Donnie said.  
  
Traag accepted the bucket of mutagen, and all the Kraang surrounding him stepped back, weapons at the ready.  
  
Traag poured the mutagen over himself.  
  
Immediately, the room was filled with the sound of Traag’s screaming, the horrible sound of rocks grating together. He stumbled, limbs twisting wrong ways, skin changing color, growing larger, larger, larger, things cracking and sprouting out of his back and chest that shouldn’t be there.  
  
Leo looked at Donnie. “The retromutagen.”  
  
Donatello produced the vial from his belt. “Brought it.”  
  
Leonardo put his attention back on Traag. “We need to do it now, while he’s still mutating. He was impossible to beat before. If he finishes mutating with all that DNA…”  
  
Donnie nodded and drew his arm back, aiming at Traag’s monstrous form.  
  
Traag fell onto his hands and knees, obscured from their view by the Kraangdroids who surrounded him.  
  
“I can’t see him,” Donnie said.  
  
“Looks like we’re gonna have to fight.” Raph jumped down to the first level and struck two robots through their heads before anyone could register his presence.  
  
Leo sighed and shook his head, then leapt down to help.  
  
Donnie clutched the vial, and he and Mikey followed suit.  
  
“There’s a lot of bots,” Michelangelo observed.  
  
Donnie deflected a laser with a sweep of his bo staff. “Looks like this was an important place, after all.”  
  
Leo sliced one’s neck. “Donnie, what do you need?”  
  
“A clear path to Traag would be great,” The genius responded, spearing another with his naginata.  
  
“Almost there!” Raph called from ahead, having single-handedly fought a path through the Kraang to the center. He did his best to hold them off while Donnie dashed towards him, vial in hand.  
  
Michelangelo attempted to cover Donatello’s back from robots closing in. Out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t have time to catch one of them raising its blaster to strike him.  
  
“Oof!” The blow stung his plastron and threw him off-balance. He stumbled right into Donnie, taking them both down and sending the vial of retromutagen flying towards Raph, who was still busy focusing on the Kraang.  
  
“Raph! Look out!” Leo cried.  
  
“Huh?” Raph turned his head and spotted the vial shooting towards him. He didn’t have time to free his sais from the Kraang and duck.  
Leonardo jumped between him and the vial of retromutagen.  
  
Crack.  
  
The world seemed to go in slow-motion as the vial shattered over Leo’s shell, splattering retromutagen all over his face and chest.  
  
Leo’s pupils turned to pinpricks the moment realization hit him. His skin grew pale and speckled. “Guy-guys…?”  
  
“No,” was all Donatello could say. “No. No. Nononononononono.”  
  
Michelangelo and Raphael held the Kraang at bay, staring with wide eyes and open mouths.  
  
Leo tried not to look at his hands as webbing grew between his fingers. “Do the best against the Kraang and Foot as you can. I love all of you, okay? Say the same to Sensei for me, will you?”  
  
“No. Leo, don’t do this to us,” Raph warned. “No. Don’t you dare, Leo- Leonardo!”  
  
They could only watch as their brother’s form shrunk before them until all that was left was a little speckled turtle, staring up at them with unknowing eyes.  
Everything was silent. Even the Kraang seemed shocked into momentary inaction.  
  
It didn’t last, though. A moment later, their lasers were trained on the turtles again.  
  
Raph’s shoulders shook. He clutched his sais in fists and stared at the ground.  
  
“Leo…” Mikey whimpered.  
  
Donnie scooped the little turtle up as laser fire opened again. “We have to go!”  
  
“I’m not leaving until they pay!” Raph shouted, the growl of rage unmistakable in his voice.  
  
Michelangelo grabbed Raphael’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I know, bro, but there’s only three of us, and if we get captured, Leo doesn’t stand a chance!”  
  
Raph gritted his teeth and growled, but his shoulders slumped, and he allowed Mikey to drag him out of the room, Lasers firing at their backs until they were out of sight.  
  
As they ran the way they’d come, Raph couldn’t pull his eyes away from the helpless turtle who had been their fearless leader only seconds ago.  
  
“Leo…”


	2. Chapter 2

Moonlight drifted through the grate above the grand dojo tree and splotched the ornamental rugs on the floor. The patter of light rain distantly mingled with the sounds of the city, muffled by the layers of concrete separating the lair from human eyes above. The rain swept its own scent, along with the smell of the oils on the road it pulled up, into the dojo and mixed with the faint wave of candle wax that emitted from the four candles Splinter had surrounded himself with.  
  
Splinter tried to focus on each of these scents and sounds as he breathed deeply, on the subtle heat from each candle, on the texture of the rug beneath him. Try as he might, as calming as the scene was, worry pulled on his face, creasing his eyebrows over his closed eyes. It was only a few minutes, he told himself, only a few minutes later than his sons usually returned from their patrol.  
  
As firm as he held himself to his composure, his concerns crept into his mind every evening. The practice of meditation was to notice where one’s thoughts and worries were headed, to take note of that, and to gently bring oneself back into focusing on their own state and surroundings. Night after night, he found his thoughts drifting towards his sons. What were they doing? Was something happening that he should be there for? Did they need help? Every time they were home late, these thoughts became more and more frequent.  
  
More often than not, though, they were only stopping somewhere for a quick task-- pick up some food, say hi to a friend, check somewhere they thought might contain a clue. Maybe Donnie had tracked down more mutagen and they needed to backtrack to find the canister. Splinter reasoned he shouldn’t worry yet; they’d be back soon. He tried to focus on the cool air filtering down through the grate above.  
  
Just as he’d redirected his attention, he heard the click of the turnstiles rotating to admit his sons back into the lair.  
  
See? There was nothing to worry about.  
  
He noticed the tension between his eyebrows refused to part, and took another deep breath, asking himself why he was still so unnerved. He focused his attention on the sound of his sons’ lighthearted banter, of Leo’s approaching footsteps as his eldest came to give his routine report of the evening patrol.  
  
Splinter’s eyes snapped open, and his head whipped towards the doorway. Where were those sounds?  
  
Something unwelcome tugged at his stomach. He grabbed the jade cane that had been laying beside him, jumped to his feet, and tried to control his pace as he left the dojo and peered around the corner into the living area.  
  
His keen eyes were quick to pick up Raphael’s stiff posture and clenched fists, Michelangelo’s shaking shoulders, and Donatello was holding something close to his chest.  
  
Splinter abandoned all thoughts of retaining his poise and rushed towards his boys. Upon getting closer, he looked over them once more, and found nothing more that could tell him what had happened.  
  
Realizing he’d have to break the spell of silence that had fallen between the three of them, Splinter purposely made his voice as soft as he could manage when he said, “My sons?”  
  
Raphael looked at him, and Splinter’s heart plummeted when he saw faint streams staining the warrior’s face. Raph turned red and quickly looked away.  
  
Splinter turned to Michelangelo, hopeful that his most expressive son would at least cue him in to some of what was going on.  
  
Michelangelo opened and closed his mouth, making an obvious attempt to communicate with his father, but in the end, his shoulders shook harder, and he gave in to a wave of tears and sobs, utterly incomprehensible.  
  
Splinter tried harder to steady his breathing as he glanced at Donatello, but the genius only stroked whatever it was he was holding so tight with a thumb, all surrounding stimuli lost as he stared down at the small thing he held to his heart with a sullen expression.  
  
Leonardo always told Splinter what was going on, good or bad. His eldest was the best at holding himself steady until everything that could be sorted out was, including filling his father in.  
  
Splinter hopefully looked around Leonardo now. He gasped. “Where is Leonardo?”  
  
Michelangelo whimpered at this and tried to pull himself together. “He said,” Mikey started, words so shaky and tearful they could hardly be understood, “He said he loves you.” He burst into another fit of tears.  
  
Splinter’s ears drooped to hang on either side of his head. He glanced at Raphael, who only drew his shoulders tighter around himself, then at Donatello.  
  
Donatello met his father’s eyes, then looked down at his hands again, and slowly uncovered the small thing he was holding, cautiously, as if the dim moonlight filtering through the living area grate might shatter this fragile thing.  
  
Whatever Splinter expected to see, it wasn’t a little turtle peeping back up at him with beady black eyes.  
  
The day Splinter got the turtles was still fresh in his mind as if it were yesterday, ingrained in his memory by the importance of that day and the joy that had resulted from it. He’d recognize that species of turtle anywhere-- speckled black-and-white skin and paint-like swirls on the scutes of the shell. After all these years, he had even kept all the same markings. Donatello didn’t need to explain anything more for Splinter to understand.  
  
Splinter held a hand to his mouth. “Oh, my son.” He reached a hand towards his child.  
  
The little turtle ducked his head back into his shell.  
  
Splinter could have sworn his heart shattered right then and there.  
  
He pulled his gaze away from the tiny terrapin. “What happened?”  
  
Michelangelo sniffed grossly, hot, fat tears dripping audibly onto the floor. “It’s my fault! I knocked the retromutagen over him! I didn’t mean to! I-” he clenched his fists, blinking more giant beads free from his eyes. “I understand if you want me to leave.”  
  
Splinter sighed and pulled his youngest son towards him, wrapping an arm around his trembling shoulders. “No, my son. You did not mean Leonardo any harm.”  
  
Michelangelo buried his face in his father’s chest, holding onto fistfuls of his robe for dear life.  
  
Quiet fell between them. Nothing seemed the right thing to say.  
  
After a long while, Donatello spoke up, his words wavering and cracking. “I need to do what I can for him,” he said. “We need to keep Leo safe and healthy how he is now. Raph, do you still have Spike’s old tank?’’  
  
Raph said nothing, but started for his room, head hung low.  
  
Donatello nodded his understanding and left for the lab, Leo clutched like a precious glass ornament in his hands.  
  
Splinter guided Michelangelo to the lab with a hand on his shoulder. He wouldn’t be surprised if his youngest son couldn’t see a thing out of his tearful eyes.  
  
Donatello handed Leo to Splinter.  
  
Splinter had always loved turtles, ever since he was a child. He would go out of his way to find them whenever he walked through the woods near his home, and if he ever saw one on the road, he would always hurry it along to be sure it didn’t get hit. So never in his life would he have ever guessed that holding this little turtle in his palms would make him feel so... broken.  
  
The genius turtle then rummaged through his drawers of miscellaneous gadgets and parts, muttering to himself all the while. “Ah, here they are. Hmm. Is this a UVA/UVB bulb? Yes, yes it is. This should be the best for him.” He produced the said bulb and a metal lamp and screwed the bulb in.  
  
Raphael returned then, lugging a sizable glass tank.  
  
Donatello cleared some space in the middle of his desk for Raph to place the tank, then clipped the lamp to its side.  
  
Splinter lowered Leo into the tank.  
  
It was sad to see, in multiple senses of the word. The tank, unfilled and undecorated, seemed more a prison than a home suitable for even a pet, let alone their family.  
  
Donatello pressed a hand to the outside of the tank, making eye contact with the beady-eyed turtle inside. “We’ll make this better for you, Leo, I promise. I’ll have April pick up some things for your tank, and then we can fill it up and you can at least be happy.” He pulled his T-phone out and started texting April a list.  
  
Silence fell again, broken by only the click of each letter Donnie typed.  
  
“What are we gonna do?” Mikey asked.  
  
Donnie stopped to look up at him, but said nothing.  
  
“Can we mutate him again? Just… pour some mutagen over him?”  
  
Donatello sighed. “He wouldn’t be the same. He lost the DNA he was mutated with. If we just dumped mutagen on him now, who knows what he’d turn into?”  
  
Michelangelo stared at his feet. “Oh.” He shifted his weight absently, letting his arms swing limply from side to side. “Well, he was mutated with Splinter’s DNA, right? Could we do that again?”  
  
“Splinter’s DNA is different now, too, now that he’s a mutant,” Donatello explained. “It wouldn’t be the same result.”  
  
Michelangelo nodded, swallowing thickly.  
  
Donnie thought, eyes flicking side to side, then returned to typing out the list of materials. No one said anything until the sound of him sounding the text whooshed from his T-phone.  
  
Donatello started to walk out of the lab. “I’m gonna go see what we have in the fridge. We might not be able to feed him the preferable balanced diet until April comes with what we need, but I think we have at least some vegetables in there that will be suitable for him.”  
  
“Can I help?” Michelangelo asked, voice still cracking a little.  
  
Donatello paused and read his baby brother’s expression. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Michelangelo wanted to be able to do something.  
  
“Yeah, you can help. You know the ins and outs of the kitchen better than I do, anyway.”  
  
Michelangelo rushed after Donatello, a little liveliness returned to his step for the first time tonight.  
  
Splinter stayed with Raphael.  
  
Raph’s eyes stayed religiously trained on Leo, as if the tiny turtle had the size or strength to push or escape from the heavy glass tank.  
  
Raphael looked horrible. His expression remained blank, but his eyes were red and his mask was beginning to dry. Ghosts of bags lined under his eyes, and his breathing, although quiet, was a little rattly to be normal.  
  
Splinter decided not to remark on his son’s silence or make an effort to comfort him, but stood alongside him, knowing he needed the company.  
  
The two stood and stared at the little turtle, and amongst the mess of his own thoughts, Splinter found himself wondering what Raphael was thinking.  
  
He soon discovered he didn’t have to ask.  
  
“He jumped in front of me.”  
  
Splinter did not ask for his son to clarify, only tilted his head towards him and waited, knowing Raph would speak when he was ready and not a moment before.  
  
“When the retromutagen spilled. It should have been me,” Raph said. “I wasn’t paying attention. It was headed right for me.” He shook his head so subtly Splinter would have missed it were he not paying attention to his son’s every gesture. “He jumped in front of me.”  
  
Splinter allowed a minute to pass in case his son wished to express anything more, but judged Raphael had said his part.  
  
“Leonardo knows the risks of going out to patrol every evening,” Splinter started. “He fears losing any of you. To be the one to get hit with the retromutagen was his own choice, one he had prepared for by merely acknowledging he was leading you and your brothers into battle. The choice was his. He was aware of the risk. You should not lay any of the blame on yourself.”  
  
Raph’s eyes shifted from Splinter back to Leo, but he made no other indication he had heard what Splinter said.  
  
Which was as good an indication as any to Splinter that Raphael was going to continue to blame himself for what had happened.  
  
He resolved not to let Raphael stew in his self-accusatory thoughts any longer than necessary, especially when he was tired and the events were fresh, and he was bound to make himself out to be more at fault than he ought.  
  
“You look tired, my son.”  
  
Raphael said nothing.  
  
“Get some rest.”  
  
Raph’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Splinter, as if Splinter had just suggested he jump off a cliff.  
  
Splinter laid a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “You are weary, my son. You cannot tax yourself with looking after your brother day and night.” He met Raphael’s gaze meaningfully before slowly and clearly saying, “I will watch over him until morning comes. No harm will come to him.”  
  
Raph glanced at Leo, then at Splinter, and Splinter nodded.  
  
“Rest, my son.”  
  
Raphael’s shoulders drooped, but he complied, leaving the lab with one backwards glance at Leo’s tank.  
  
Splinter seated himself at Donatello’s desk and began his vigil over the turtle in the tank.  
  
He could have sworn the little turtle looked reluctant to see Raph leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day, y'all!


	3. Chapter 3

Donatello rubbed his eyes as he retraced his way from the kitchen back to the lab. As he passed Raphael, who was sleeping on the couch ahead of the lab doors, Donnie tried to make his footfalls as stealthy as possible, knowing his brother’s sleep would be fitful and easily disturbed. It was hard though, heavy as Donatello’s limbs felt. The genius would have dragged himself over the surface had Raphael not been there.  
  
But Raphael hadn’t rested for very long. Donatello had caught glimpses of him tossing and turning on the couch while the genius had been in the lab, racking his brain for any possible solution. He’d seen Raph sit up a few times to glance at the tank that lay atop the genius’s desk. Donatello supposed Raph had only drifted off around five in the morning, meaning if he woke him up now, Raph would have only rested for…  
  
Donatello clicked his T-phone on to check the time and complete the calculation, and hummed to himself. It was already mid-morning; no wonder he was feeling so sluggish.  
  
He put his phone away, only to gasp and pull it out again, rechecking the time.  
  
He dashed towards the dojo. Splinter wouldn’t be happy if he realized Donatello had pulled another all-nighter again and had consequently lost track of time and arrived late for training. Leo was going to get on his case again and-  
  
Oh. Right.  
  
Donnie stopped, panic of being late fading away and something much colder flooding in to replace it.  
  
“‘Y’okay?” slurred a voice.  
  
Donnie turned around to see Raph half-sitting up on the couch, and mentally scolded himself for disturbing his brother for nothing.  
  
“Yeah,” Donnie said, though his tone said otherwise. “Yeah, it’s just…” he gestured around him at nothing in particular, then let his arms drop to his sides.  
  
Raph nodded. “Yeah…”  
  
With little hope that Raph would follow his suggestion, Donnie said, “Go back to sleep.”  
  
Raphael stretched. “Probably can’t now.”  
  
Donatello stared at the floor.  
  
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”  
  
Silence fell between them. Donnie heard the trickle of water in a distant tunnel somewhere.  
  
Raphael rubbed the back of his neck. “What needs doing? I’m gonna go insane down here without training.” He looked up at the grate in the living room ceiling, gauging the amount of sunlight streaming through it. “I assume training’s been cancelled?”  
  
Donnie nodded. “April’s due to be down here any minute now. We’ll need to make Leo’s tank better for him once she’s picked out all the supplies.”  
  
“Right.” Raph sent a glance back to the lab, then jabbed his thumb in that direction before standing and walking towards it.  
  
Donatello followed.  
  
Upon entering, they saw their little brother leaning over the desk, eyes fixed on the little terrapin.  
  
“We skipped on training today,” Mikey told Leo. “I know you aren’t happy about that, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.” He chuckled sheepishly and looked away for a split second. “Anyway, it’s Friday, so you know what that means! Space Heroes reruns are on tonight! I looked at the episode titles; I think your favorite’s on around eight. We should watch it together. Donnie said something about a diet, but maybe I can still talk him into letting you have some popcorn.”  
  
Donatello’s shoulders slumped. He made a mental note to give Michelangelo something to feed Leo later－popcorn was one of the things he certainly should not eat now, especially if it had butter.  
  
Michelangelo sighed, eyes growing tearful. “I know you always look up to Captain Ryan. Say you’ll be a good leader like him.” He sniffed. “You were always a better leader than him, Leo. You care about us more than he ever cared about his crew. He’d never sacrifice himself for one of them.” He let his head droop. “I messed up. That’s why you’re like this. I didn’t mean to! I swear I didn’t mean－” He trailed off. “Leo, blink if you understand.”  
  
Donnie’s throat felt tight. He recognized the phrase instantly as one Raph had used so many times while ranting to his pet. “Spike, chew on your leaf if you understand me.”  
  
Donatello had never quite determined whether Raphael had really deemed this an accurate method of communication with his pet, or if even in the back of his mind, Raph had known he’d chosen to assign an affirmative answer to an action his companion was sure to take. Either way, Donatello hadn’t had the heart to tell Raphael that the brain of an unmutated turtle wasn’t designed to understand words, and he certainly hadn’t even thought of explaining to his brother that they were incapable of feeling love.  
  
So he bore the load of this knowledge alone as he watched Michelangelo await the little turtle, cursing his intellect for once in his life, wishing that he could rid himself of this information.  
  
The scene was hard enough to watch even without knowing full well that Leonardo didn’t－couldn’t－ care about Michelangelo.  
  
Or any of them, for that matter.  
  
“Leo,” Michelangelo repeated when the little turtle didn’t blink, “Blink if you understand me.”  
  
The three brothers held their breath as they watched the turtle in the tank.  
  
Michelangelo squeezed on the edge of the desk harder, as if to steady himself.  
  
Slowly, the terrapin’s eyes closed, then opened again.  
  
“Oh, good,” Mikey said with a hollow chuckle, “You were starting to scare me, bro.”  
  
His tone made Donnie well aware that he didn’t entirely believe what he was saying. Deep down, Michelangelo knew he was only buying time until the turtle’s inevitable blink, but the youngest was always fast to hold onto hope.  
  
What would be worse, Donatello contemplated, having the turtle’s delayed reaction wear down Mikey’s hope, or if Leo had blinked right away and made Michelangelo hold even tighter onto that hope when Leo might not even…  
  
The familiar click of the turnstiles welcomely interrupted his thoughts, and the three (still mutant) turtles looked at the lab doors.  
  
April entered the room, arms looped through the handles of several plastic grocery bags and hands straining under the weight of several more. “Hey, guys!” she said, muffled by the groceries in front of her face.  
  
Casey tagged by her side, carrying another few bags.  
  
“Hey, April,” Donnie said, going to pick some of the bags out of her arms. “You can put these on the ground by my desk.”  
  
Casey gracelessly dropped the bags on the floor and fished one of the items out of it with a smirk. “Why do you need pet turtle chow?” He asked, rattling the said container for show. “You getting sick of pizza?”  
  
Donnie growled, glaring daggers at him. Any other day, he would have ignored the comment, but today, it was just too much.  
  
Now free from all her bags, April spotted the tank and ran towards it with a gasp. She hovered next to the glass with an adoring grin. “Who’s this? He’s so little and adorable!” She turned towards Donatello and her grin fell. “Donnie, what’s the matter?”  
  
Donnie took a deep breath. “It’s Leo.”  
  
April stood upright, cupping a hand to her mouth.  
  
Casey’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows went up. He looked from Leo to Donnie and back again. “You’re kidding!”  
  
Donnie shook his head.  
  
“What?” April breathed. “Then he… the retromutagen?”  
  
Donatello gave a slow nod.  
  
“Oh, Donnie, I-” She wrapped her arms around his shell, pressing her cheek to his plastron. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Donnie reciprocated the hug, only then realizing how much he needed the comfort.  
  
Casey put a hand on Raph’s and Mikey’s shoulders, and the three of them shared a respectful silence.  
  
Donatello pulled away and met April’s gaze. “We need to do what we can now. Thank you so much for going out and getting everything for us.”  
  
April’s hand came back to hovering over her mouth, as if it were a guard to stop her from saying anything wrong in the fragility of the moment. “Yes, of course. Anything－ anything we can do.”  
  
The brothers went about unpacking the bags as April and Casey lost themselves staring into the tank, as if it were an infinite sea.  
  
Raph left to put the worms, plants, and shrimp that would make up most of Leo’s diet in the fridge. Donnie called after him, telling him to fill a basin with water and bring it back to them.  
  
Donnie then scooped Leo out of his tank and handed him to April before opening a bag of pebbles and spreading them across the tank’s floor.  
  
Mikey chose some spots for decorative aquarium plants, then Donnie placed a basking rock under the lamp.  
  
Raph returned with the water, and they filled the tank up to the level of the basking rock.  
  
Donnie did a quick search online to make sure the water filter Casey had chosen was of a reputable brand, and when he was satisfied with the results, he clipped it to the side of the tank and plugged it in, alongside a thermometer and a heater.  
  
Donatello deemed the water the right temperature, and gave April the go-ahead to gently place Leo into the water.  
  
Everyone watched as Leo swam around in his new habitat, exploring the fake plants and pebbled floor, before coming to rest atop the basking rock.  
  
“Do you think he’s happy?” Mikey asked.  
  
“Healthy turtles generally use their basking rocks pretty often,” Donnie said. “Based on the data we have, I’d say that’s a reasonable conclusion.”  
  
Everyone seemed satisfied by this. They drifted into yet another silence, this one longer as everyone watched the little turtle.  
  
Eventually, April and Casey excused themselves, not wanting to hang around too long should the brothers want some time to themselves to think.  
  
A while later, Mikey left for the kitchen, saying he should get Leo something to eat.  
  
Raph and Donnie continued to watch the tank.  
  
Donatello started to drum his fingers on the desk. It was annoying him, having so much to do and not knowing how. It didn’t seem appropriate to work on one of his other projects now, although the other option was to continue staring, which Raph was already keeping a good eye out. If only there were something more important than the usual project.  
  
Donnie snapped his fingers, remembering the Kraang drive he’d stolen from the console.  
  
Until he figured out what to do about Leo, that seemed a worthy thing to spend his time on.  
  
He produced the drive from his belt and popped it into his computer. Some decoding later, he’d successfully translated the page, and started skimming through it.  
  
Mikey came back with Leo’s food and added some turtle chow to the bowl before setting it in the tank.  
  
Donnie gasped, almost causing him to drop the bowl on poor Leo.  
  
“What is it?” Raph asked.  
  
“According to this drive, it looks like the Kraang are going to retry their invasion plan.”  
  
“What?” Raph and Mikey chorused.  
  
“When?” Raphael asked.  
  
“I can’t give an exact date, given I don’t know the exact difference of time in the temporal differential,” Donnie said, “But soon. Very soon.”  
  
“They’re doing the same invasion plan again?” Mikey cried. “That’s not even original of them! Super Robo Mecha Force’s enemies always changed their plans! For every episode!”  
  
“That’s because they’re cartoon show villains,” Donnie said. “The writers have to create a different plot for every episode to keep the viewers’ interest. Our lives aren’t a cartoon show, Mikey. The Kraang almost succeeded last time they invaded. Did succeed for a while, actually. The intelligent thing for them to do would be to work out the bugs in their plan and do it again, instead of trying a new one with a whole other set of problems they don’t know about.”  
  
“So what are they doing different this time, that they didn’t last?” Raph asked.  
  
“It looks like they’re going to implement a new weapon,” Donnie said.  
  
“That’s all? That’s the only change?”  
  
“There are a few other minor changes, it looks like,” Donatello reported, scanning over the document again, “But that seems like the main one.”  
  
“So they’re mainly relying on this new weapon to succeed,” Raph thought out loud. “They seem to think it will take care of most of their problems. Which begs the question: what is it about this weapon that makes them think it’s so powerful?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day, y'all!


	4. Chapter 4

“This place again?” Mondo said, making no attempt to disguise the loathing in his voice as he stared at the hotel.  
  
Rockwell levitated in front of the young gecko mutant to get a better look at the said place. “Word on the street says the inhabitants here have been strangely quiet,” Rockwell confirmed. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Vizioso and his goons are up to something.” His mouth curled into a smirk. “Although it does help to be one.”  
  
Mondo took a step back, closer to where Leatherhead and Slash stood in the alleyway. “But why do we gotta go in?”  
  
“How else are we gonna find out what they’re up to?” Slash replied. He swung his mace over his shoulder, the head of it coming to rest just behind the tip of his shell. “Unless you have another idea.”  
  
“Any idea that doesn’t involve going back into the place I almost got dissected alive in is a good enough one for me.”  
  
Leatherhead placed a hand on Mondo’s shoulder.  
  
Rockwell addressed Slash. “They are a dangerous enemy. We should avoid confrontation for as long as possible.”  
  
Slash considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Between Leatherhead and I, I don’t think stealth will be an option. Here’s the plan: we walk in to talk, not to fight. But if they give us trouble? Which, is probably what’s gonna happen, considering Vizioso,” He held his mace in both hands and gave it an experimental swing, “We’ll be ready to show them who’s boss.”  
  
“If we’re to walk in plain and obvious,” Rockwell warned, “Be sure to check for any possible traps or sneak attacks. They may have time to set them up between when we enter and when we reach Vizioso.”  
  
Slash focused his attention on the hotel. “They’ll have even more time if they discover us out here before we even start. Let’s get this over with.”  
  
He waited for a nod from Rockwell and Leatherhead, and a nervous shrug from Mondo Gecko, before starting to walk across the road to the hotel.  
  
Mondo jumped as a train sounded its horn on the overhead track, and scooted closer to Leatherhead.  
  
When he reached the door, Slash threw it open and walked inside without even a split second’s hesitation, head held high.  
  
A couple of Vizioso’s goons stood in the entrance hallway, and they turned when they heard the Mutanimals approaching. Half of them were armed, and the ones who had blasters stepped in front of the ones who didn’t and began firing.  
  
Rockwell levitated the weapons out of their grasp and broke the blasters in two with a psychic burst before letting the remains drop to the ground with a clatter.  
  
The masked men backed up, some glancing at the exit.  
  
Slash eyed them for a moment, considering whether they were worth fighting. He held his hand up, though, as a signal for his team to pass them without attacking. He glared at them as they continued down the hall, as if daring them to try anything.  
  
“Strange that some of them were unarmed,” Rockwell noted. “With the Don up to something, you would think he would have ordered them to stay extra vigilant.”  
  
“They probably weren’t expecting to get caught,” Slash responded.  
  
The Mutanimals continued to the end of the hall and took the stairs.  
  
Rockwell closed his eyes and put his hands to the sides of his head as he levitated up the flights. “I can sense Vizioso close by. He’s four more levels up.”  
  
Slash picked up speed, his footfalls echoing throughout the staircase. “Nice work, Doc.”  
  
As the Mutanimals reached the said story, they picked up the aroma of fresh bread and cooked tomatoes.  
  
Slash opened the door into the hall, and a strong wave of the smell washed over the staircase. “Yep, he’s definitely here.”  
  
More thugs stood in this hall, all armed. They spotted Slash and charged their lasers.  
  
Slash walked towards them and stared them down, mace at the ready.  
  
The masked goons opened fire.  
  
Slash charged them with a roar, swatting two of them aside with a swing of his mace as if they were flies. They collided with the wall with a bang and slumped onto the floor, grains of drywall showering over their heads from the dent they had created.  
  
Rockwell disarmed a few with a flick of his wrist, then closed imaginary hands around their throats and watched them try to struggle from his mental grasp until he deemed them unconscious.  
  
Mondo charged the last with a ridiculous battle cry and a raised fist. He landed the blow squarely in the goon’s stomach with all his might.  
  
The goon gazed down at Mondo with a furrowed brow and tilted his head. Then he raised his own hand to strike.  
  
Leatherhead roared and punched the goon at full force, sending the masked man flying across the hall.  
  
Mondo offered Leatherhead a fist bump, which the gator returned with a razor-toothed smile.  
  
Rockwell put a hand to his head. He pointed to the next door down. “That one.”  
  
Slash approached the door and placed his hand on the knob.  
  
“Wait,” Rockwell said. “Security has been strangely thin. Be cautious.”  
  
Slash nodded, backed up, and used his shoulder to ram the door down.  
  
An ear-splitting bang resounded as the door hit the floor.  
  
The Mutanimals rushed in, quickly positioning themselves to cover each other’s blind spots.  
  
Vizioso sat in his levitating chair, stress eating an entire loaf of bread.  
  
The Fulci twins rushed to cover his either side, producing cleavers and meat knives from within the folds of their suits.  
  
“Muties!” Vizioso cried, eyes growing wide as the saucers scattered on the table in the corner. He put his chair in reverse and hovered back until his chair bumped into the wall. His head whipped from side to side, and his eyebrows shot up, realizing he had cornered himself. He shrunk in his chair, looking unusually small for a man of his immense size.  
  
The Fulci twins backed up with him, eyes trained on the four mutants in front of them.  
  
“Vizioso!” Slash roared, taking a few strides forward so that he could still be towering over the three criminals. Closer now, he could see beads of sweat forming on Vizioso’s forehead.  
  
“What do you want from me?” Vizioso cried.  
  
Slash cracked his knuckles. “Answers.”  
  
“And if you don’t give them to us the easy way, we have our own methods of retrieving them,” Rockwell added. “So make this easy for yourself and spit it out.”  
  
Vizioso shrunk further into his chair. “Alright! Alright!” He held his palms out. “Just don’t hurt me!”  
  
Slash and Leatherhead exchanged a glance.  
  
Slash tossed his weapon in his palm. “What have you lowlifes been up to?”  
  
“Nothing,” Vizioso replied.  
  
Slash narrowed his eyes.  
  
“We haven’t been doing anything, I swear!”  
  
Slash took a step closer. “That has to be the lamest story I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“Look, Mutie, I don’t know what else to tell you.”  
  
“How about the truth. What are you planning?”  
  
“Slash,” Rockwell said, “He is telling the truth.”  
  
Slash whipped around to face the psychic. “What? Are you sure?”  
  
Rockwell nodded.  
  
“See?” Vizioso spat. “You should know that. There’s not much I can do, after your friends took most of my arsenal and all my weapons plans.”  
  
The Mutanimals shared a collective “What?”  
  
“Do you mean the turtles?” Leatherhead asked. “Did they take your weapons?”  
  
“No,” Slash said. Raphael would have told me.  
  
“Then who?”  
  
Slash glared at Vizioso. “Who took your weapons and plans?”  
  
Vizioso shook his head. “I don’t know; they snuck in, whoever they were.” He thought for a moment. “Wait, you mean it wasn’t your friends who took my plans?” He suddenly seemed much taller. “So if not you or your pals, then it has to be someone who wants to get rid of muties. No one else would be stealing them to protect your filthy kind.” His lips curled into a manic grin. “Someone else is finally taking an interest in ridding this city of the scum that infests it!”  
  
“‘Bout time!” one of the twins said.  
  
Slash growled, not at all pleased by the sudden shift in the room. “Mutanimals, we’re done here!” He turned to go.  
  
Vizioso cackled as they left, throwing what was left of his food at them. “Good riddance! Send my congratulations to the ones taking you down, when you meet them!”  
  
Vizioso and the twins broke into manic, mocking laughter that followed the Mutanimals all the way out the hotel.  
  
***  
  
Raphael set Leo down on the kitchen table in front of the meal he had gotten for the little turtle.  
  
The speckled turtle went to munching on the vegetables.  
  
Although it was about time for him to eat as well, Raph didn’t feel hungry. He kept his eyes trained on the unmutated turtle, wary of any attempt to walk closer to the table’s edge.  
  
As he watched the terrapin gobble down the various veggies, he couldn’t help but think that Leo wouldn’t be eating, either, if he were his normal self.  
Their fearless leader would be making a plan and making sure they were all prepared with everything they needed. He would somehow shape everything they knew about the Kraang and their plot into a plausible plan of attack to stop them. He would be practicing specific katas and strikes he thought might exploit a flaw in the Kraangs’ fighting style.  
  
Without him, what were they doing? Raph was watching over Leo’s helpless form instead of equipping himself with as many weapons as he could use. Mikey was trying to distract himself from the situation with TV, unsure of what he could do to help without someone to direct him. Donnie was doing something in the lab, exactly what, Raph couldn’t tell. Last time he had seen the genius, Donatello had been working with his chemistry tools again, so it most likely wasn’t anything to do with the Kraang drive.  
  
And Leo. Leo was unseeing. Unknowing. Oblivious to what was happening around him. The turtle who had been one of the world’s greatest martial artists only the night before now had to have his brother guard him to make sure he didn’t walk off the table and crack his shell.  
  
“Leo,” Raph said, “What do we do?”  
  
The speckled terrapin looked up at him, then resumed crunching his vegetables.  
  
Raphael lowered his chin onto the table, wrapping one elbow around the front of his face and placing the other hand on the top of his scalp, as if to hide his head. “We don’t have any leads. We know the Kraang are going to try something big, and soon. We don’t know when. We don’t know how. We don’t have any locations. We don’t even know what their new weapon is supposed to do, or who they’re tryn’a take out.”  
  
He straightened himself, hovering his hands over each ear. He flexed his fingers in a clawlike manner, as if trying to visualise the pressure his mind was under. “We just know they have a new weapon they’re counting on to make the difference between this invasion and the last. That’s it! That’s all we have!”  
  
Raph gazed at the little turtle. “You’d still be able to make that work.” He sighed. “We’re so lost without you, Leo.” For a moment, his gaze dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped, then they raised, and he clenched his fists and gave the counter a good punch. “I can’t do this! I’ve got nothing!”  
  
The little turtle skittered away from the loud noise and offending hand, towards the edge of the table.”  
  
“Woah. Woah! WOAH!” Raphael practically dove across the table to grab a hold of the little terrapin before Leo could put himself in danger.  
  
Leonardo ducked into his shell when he discovered his legs would take him nowhere.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Raph said. “I didn’t mean to-” He dragged his free hand down his face with a prolonged groan. “I forgot I can’t keep treating you like you’re… Fearless.”  
  
He glanced down at the table, and seeing Leo had finished all but a few crumbs of his meal, started for the lab.  
  
The lair’s living area was uncomfortably quiet even to walk through, the only sound the shuffling of Donnie working with his chemicals in the lab.  
  
Donatello looked up and set a test tube aside when he heard Raphael enter. “What did you feed him?”  
  
Raphael placed the little turtle in the tank. “Just vegetables.”  
  
Donatello hummed and wrote such down on a sheet of paper at the top of his desk. “That’s good. Mikey fed him a lot of proteins earlier, so that should balance out.” He set the pen down and picked the test tube up again. “His next food should be the pet turtle chow.”  
  
Raphael nodded. “What’cha working on?”  
  
Donatello started, then made a point of smiling and making eye contact with Raphael when he replied, “Oh, you know.” His eyes flicked away for a split second. “Science.”  
  
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see that. I was hoping you’d be more specific.”  
  
Donatello waved his free hand. “Ah, well, you’re always telling me to simplify things for you. That I shouldn’t use too many big terms when I’m explaining-”  
  
Raph crossed his arms. “Yeah, but I can understand more than the word science.”  
  
“Oh, would you listen to that? The turnstiles are clicking. Someone’s coming into the lair. We’d better go see who it is.”  
  
Raphael watched as his brother hastily found a stopping point in his project and crossed the room.  
  
Raph followed him into the living room, where Michelangelo and Splinter were already gathering to see their visitors.  
  
“Leatherhead!” Michelangelo greeted, dashing towards his gator friend and wrapping his arms as far around the reptilian as he could manage.  
  
“My friend,” Leatherhead said. “It is good to see you.”  
  
When they let each other go, Michelangelo spotted his gecko friend waiting patiently for his turn to be greeted. “Mondo!”  
  
The two exchanged a series of high-threes and fist bumps and imitated an explosion for the finale.  
  
“Nice to see you, dude,” Mondo said. He tilted his head. “Mikey, are you alright? You look a little tired.”  
  
Mikey rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
“Slash,” Raph said.  
  
“Raphael.” Slash offered his hand, which Raphael took, and they shared something of an arm wrestle.  
  
“Donatello,” Was Rockwell’s only salutations.  
  
“Rockwell,” Donnie replied.  
  
“Welcome, friends and allies,” Splinter said. “What brings you all by the lair?”  
  
“We thought it would be wise to warn you,” Rockwell said.  
  
“I… don’t like how this is starting,” Donnie said, “And something tells me I won’t like how it ends, either.”  
  
Slash solemnly shook his head. “Someone’s taken all of Vizioso’s mutant-seeking weapons.”  
  
“The plans for them, too,” Rockwell added.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t like where this is going at all,” Donnie said. “Do you… have any idea who?”  
  
“No,” Slash said. “And neither do they.”  
  
Donatello paled. Raph stared at the ground, Michelangelo, at Slash, as if willing him to say, “Psych!”  
  
“New weapons plans?” Raphael exchanged a glance with Donatello. “You don’t think it could be-”  
  
“‘Fraid so,” Donnie said. He stroked his chin. “After all, the Kraang only failed the first invasion after all of us came back to stop them. It makes sense they’d want to retry their plan with a way to take us out.”  
  
Mondo let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“What makes you think it’s the Kraang?” Slash asked. “And what’s this about a second invasion?”  
  
“We infiltrated a Kraang facility last night,” Donatello said. “I got a hold of one of their drives, which told me they were planning to retry their invasion using a new weapon, but I didn’t know what.” He folded his hands under his chin. “Until now.”  
  
Slash looked at Raphael. “That’s helpful to know.”  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away,” Raph said. “We’ve all been a bit… preoccupied.”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Leatherhead asked.  
  
Raph’s eyes shifted towards the lab.  
  
Rockwell caught onto his lack of an answer as a bad sign and glanced around the room at each of them, probably scanning everyone for injuries. “Wait.” He looked around once more. “Where is Leonardo?”  
  
The brothers avoided the gaze of their friends. No one seemed eager to volunteer an answer, much to the rising panic of their allies.  
  
Splinter spoke up. “There was… an accident. Last night at the Kraang base.”  
  
A low rumble emanated from Leatherhead’s chest. The gator’s eyes threatened to gloss over.  
  
Michelangelo quickly grabbed Leatherhead’s paw and stroked his arm.  
  
Splinter’s ears drooped low. “Leonardo is no longer a mutant. He no longer has the ability to behave in a humanoid fashion.”  
  
“Great Scott,” Rockwell breathed.  
  
“Oh,” Mondo said. “That’s really rough, dudes.”  
  
Leatherhead squeezed Michelangelo’s arm. “My friend…”  
  
“You mean he’s just…” Slash swirled his hand, searching for the words. “Just a normal turtle?”  
  
Raph nodded.  
  
Slash wordlessly put a hand on Raphael’s shoulder.  
  
“We have to stop them,” Leatherhead growled. “Slash, what are we going to do?”  
  
Slash met Leatherhead’s gaze. “We know now who we need to stop, and what they’re using. Rockwell, Donatello, do you think you could trace the anti-mutant weapons? Chances are, it will lead us to their bases.”  
  
“No promises,” Rockwell said, “But I have a few guesses as to what chemicals they would need to put in the weapons. If I’m right about that, then yes, I will be able to trace them.”  
  
“Good,” Slash said. “Get to work on that.”  
  
“You all should stay here to work,” Raph said. “It’ll save time.”  
  
Donatello nodded. “You can use anything you find in my lab, just be careful about the stuff that’s in the middle of my desk right now. I need that. I’ll go move that for you.”  
  
“Much obliged,” Rockwell said, starting for the lab.  
  
“I can help with tracing the chemicals, too,” Donatello said.  
  
Rockwell shook his head. “I can do that myself. You ought to be focusing on what Leonardo needs.”  
  
“What can the rest of us do?” Leatherhead asked.  
  
“It seems our best option is to prepare and wait,” Splinter said. “Our battle is soon.”  
  
Raph crossed his arms. “Great. Waiting. My favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day, y'all!


	5. Chapter 5

“Thanks for coming back on such short notice,” Donatello said when he saw April and Casey crossing the turnstiles into the lair for the second time that day.  
  
“What’s going on?” April said. “Did you find something for Leo?” She glanced around at the Mutanimals, Splinter, and the Turtles, all of whom still waited in the living area.  
  
Donnie rubbed his neck with a sigh. “No. I’ve done all I can for now. I offered to help Rockwell track the Kraang weapons, but it seems he’d rather do that himself.”  
  
“Track the Kraang?” April echoed. Her brow furrowed. “We’re gonna kick their butts, right? For Leo?”  
  
Raphael nodded, cracking his knuckles. “Heck yeah we are!”  
  
“You have your tessen?” Donnie asked.  
  
April produced the said blade from her pocket. “Never leave home without it.”  
  
Donatello gave a nod of approval, then turned his attention to his other human friend. “Casey?”  
  
Casey pulled his skull mask over his face and tossed a hockey puck in his opposite hand. “Casey Jones is always ready to wipe the scum out of New York.”  
  
“Great, ‘cause it looks like we’ll really be needing you two,” Donnie said. “The Kraang are going to retry their invasion plans using mutant-seeking weapons to wipe us out.”  
  
April jumped.  
  
Casey grumbled and glared at his feet. “Well, this just keeps getting better.”  
  
“How soon?” April asked.  
  
A rumbling sound said Rockwell was opening the lab doors. Everyone turned to look at him as he entered, his phone in his hand.  
  
“We need to leave,” Rockwell said. “Now.”  
  
Slash stepped towards him. “Doc?”  
  
“I was able to trace the weapons’ chemicals to this address,” Rockwell said, holding up his phone screen to display a map on it.  
  
Donnie took Rockwell’s phone and input the coordinates into his own T-phone.  
  
“From gathering the location, I was able to intercept Kraang messages concerning their plan. They intend to release their weapons in two hours.”  
  
“Two hours?” Slash repeated.  
  
“I thought we had at least a few days!” Mondo exclaimed.  
  
Donatello shook his head. “I had no way of calculating the exact time, given the temporal differential. A few days was the time I expected within a margin of error, but it looks like the actual time is outside that margin.”  
  
“Doc Rockwell’s right,” Raph said. “We need to act now. If we don’t, and they release the mutant-seeking weapons?”  
  
“We’re done for!” Mondo shrieked.  
  
“Everyone who doesn’t already have them, grab your weapons now,” Donnie said.  
  
Raphael looked to his side. “What’s the plan, fearless?”  
  
Everyone froze.  
  
Raph went wide-eyed, then stared at the ground, expression dark.  
  
Slash cleared his throat. “We’ll, uh, come up with a plan along the way.”  
  
“I’ve got the location on my phone, and Rockwell on his.” Donatello waved his T-phone for emphasis. “We should take the Shellraiser and the Party Wagon.” He turned to Slash. “If you took the Stealth Bike, you could probably get there fastest to scope the place out and come up with a plan.”  
  
Slash nodded.  
  
“I will stay here and watch over Leonardo,” Splinter said. “Good luck, my sons and allies. Stay safe.”  
  
Raph, Mikey, and Donnie all quickly bowed to Splinter, then everyone raced for the vehicles, Slash going to the Stealth Bike, the rest of the Mutanimals to the Party Wagon, and the turtles and April and Casey to the Shellraiser.  
  
Raph situated himself in the driver’s seat of the Shellraiser. He’d wanted to be the driver when Donnie first showcased the improved subway car, but having now to take the seat out of obligation and not choice made something unpleasant bubble in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t belong there.  
  
***  
  
The turtles were almost to the specified location when Raph’s phone rang. He put his T-phone on speaker.  
  
“Slash?” Rockwell said from one end of the group call.  
  
“I’m at the facility now,” Slash said. “Where are you?”  
  
“We’ll be there shortly,” Rockwell replied. “The turtles’ vehicle is directly behind us on the road.”  
  
“Slash, what are you seeing?” Donnie called, raising his voice so the phone could pick it up despite him being at his station in the back of the Shellraiser.  
  
“Looks like a regular warehouse,” Slash said, “Except they have automatic shutters ready to go over all the doors and windows. If they have those, who knows what other defenses they might be hiding?”  
  
“Do you have a plan?” Rockwell asked.  
  
“I’d say we could set the weapons to go off and then close all the doors and windows so that they’re all trapped inside and go off before they even get out, but if the shutters are automatic, we wouldn’t be able to close them.”  
  
“Not necessarily,” Donatello chimed from the back of the Shellraiser. “The Kraang hold the command to close them, so if I could hack into the facility’s system, I could potentially close all but one of the entrances to let us get in and set the weapons off.”  
  
“Great,” Raph said. “Do that.”  
  
Donatello typed away at his computer station.  
  
“Meanwhile, Slash, you should look for the best entrance for us to work from, so Donatello knows which one to keep open.”  
  
“Good idea, Doc,” Slash said.  
  
“When you set off all the weapons, how are you going to make sure they don’t all follow you out the one open door right away?” April asked.  
  
Donnie hummed. “We’ll have to put them on a timer to give us a chance to get out.” He tapped a few more keystrokes on his computer. “I’ve hacked their system. I can see the shutter settings; they’re on a blueprint of the building. Which door should I keep open?”  
  
“Do you see the big garage door on the left?” Slash asked over the phone.  
  
“Yeah, I see it,” Donnie called back.  
  
“That’ll let us all go in at once; we’ll be able to go in and take them by surprise without staggering our entrances. That’s the one to keep open.”  
  
Donnie typed a line of code into his computer. “Closing all entrances but the left garage door.”  
  
A series of rumbles and clicks sounded from Slash’s end of the call.  
  
“Great work, Donatello!” Slash said.  
  
Donnie smirked and resumed searching the hacked files for anything useful. His brow furrowed. “Hey, what’s this?” He clicked the file open and scanned its contents.  
  
A second series of rumbles and clicks came from the phone.  
  
“Um, Donatello? They’re reopening the entrances,” Slash said.  
  
Donatello set the file he’d just been reading aside and pulled the shutter system up again. “What?”  
  
The entrances on the blueprint started to pop back up as open.  
  
“Yeah, I see what you’re talking about,” Donnie said. “Let me close them again.”  
  
He coded the doors to close again. They started to open. He typed the code to close them a third time.  
  
ERROR: ACCESS RESTRICTED  
  
“What?” Donatello said. “It let me do it before.” His brows shot up. “They know I’m in their system.”  
  
The sound of a car starting sounded from the phone.  
  
“We scared them,” Slash realized aloud. “They have their shipping vans; they’re trying to move the weapons out.”  
  
“Stall them!” Leatherhead said.  
  
“We’re almost there,” Mondo said. “Just one more street to go.”  
  
The Party Wagon turned the corner, and the Shellraiser followed.  
  
On his monitor, Raph saw a Kraang van pull out into the street ahead, and saw Slash run after it.  
  
“Focus on trapping the ones still at the storage facility, Slash!” Rockwell said. “We’ll chase this one.”  
  
Slash abandoned the van and ducked back behind a building out of view where he had come from.  
  
The Party Wagon sped up in hot pursuit of the van once Slash was in the clear.  
  
Donatello pounded his fists on his station.“I moved too soon! They knew we were coming!”  
  
Michelangelo shot him a sympathetic look. “It’s alright, Donnie. You did your best.”  
  
Donnie groaned and pulled up the file he’d been eyeing earlier.  
  
Raph pulled into the parking lot just in time to see a second van slip by Slash, and quickly swerved back out onto the road to chase it.  
  
“It seems one of the main elements they added to the weapons was a gaseous compound meant to deteriorate mutant cells,” Donnie read aloud, almost shouting to battle the roar of the Shellraiser’s engines, following the text on the screen with his index finger. “They have a large store of the gas in the storage facility we just passed, not to load into the weapons they had in there, but to release from the facility to distribute over the city.” He put a hand to his chin. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. This compound isn’t very dense. If they just released it into the streets, most of the gas would just go up, not out. It wouldn’t find very many mutants that way. It’s not like the streets of New York have roofs that could trap the gas and push it out.”  
  
April slammed her fist on the Shellraiser’s wall in a moment of realization. “But the sewers do!”  
  
“Genuis,” Rockwell remarked from over the phone. “Releasing the gas into the sewers would distribute it perfectly, given the gas would rise up at the interval of every sewer grate.”  
  
“Not the time, Rockwell!” Slash called amidst sounds of struggle from his end of the line.  
  
“We need to go back to the facility,” Donnie called to Raph. “We need to stop them.”  
  
“I’ll trade you,” Slash said. “I’ll come chase the van you’re following; the five of you stop the storage from releasing the gas.”  
  
Raph spun the van into a quick U-turn.  
  
Everyone in the Shellraiser gave a surprised cry and lurched to one side with the movement.  
  
A truck in the opposite lane slammed on its brakes and blared its horn at them as Raph used the wrong lane to quickly get back to where they were going.  
  
Mikey shrieked. “Sensei’s still down there!”  
  
“Call him!” Donnie said, typing away at his keyboard.  
  
“Right!” Mikey reached for his T-phone in his belt. He felt around for the familiar shell-shaped case, glanced around his station, and smiled sheepishly at his brothers. “Uh. I, uh, kinda forgot it?”  
  
“Mikey!” Donnie and Raph chorused.  
  
“Mikey, that’s a serious safety hazard!” Donnie scolded, tossing his little brother his own phone. “Don’t forget it again!”  
  
Michelangelo stared at the wall as he held the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing on the other end.  
  
“Donatello!” Splinter’s voice answered almost at once. “What is the trouble?”  
  
“Sensei, you need to get out of there,” Mikey said.  
  
A pause.  
  
“What has happened to Donatello?” Splinter demanded.  
  
“He’s fine. He let me borrow his phone, is all,” Mikey replied. “The Kraang are gonna try to put gas down in the sewers. You need to get out.”  
  
“If you have time, grab the set of test tubes and the beaker I have at the bottom middle of my desk,” Donnie said. “Those are important.”  
  
“Yes, my sons. Thank you.”  
  
The dial tone sounded from the other end. Mikey hung up and returned Donnie’s T-phone.  
  
Raph pulled into the alley beside the storage facility.  
  
Casey threw the Shellraiser’s door open and charged out, followed shortly by April and the turtles.  
  
“Do we have a plan?” Donnie asked.  
  
“GOONGALA!” Casey shouted and raced around the corner, hockey stick raised high above his head.  
  
“Doesn’t look like it,” Mikey said.  
  
Raph drew his sais with a smirk. “Hey, if it works, it works.” He ran after his friend.  
  
Donnie, April, and Mikey exchanged a glance, then drew their weapons and joined them.  
  
The garage door was still wide open, with Kraang loading more weapons into more vans inside.  
  
Upon seeing them charge in, one of the Kraangdroids pushed a button beside it on the wall.  
  
Laser guns descended from the ceiling and began firing at the group.  
  
The Kraang pulled out more lasers and began to fire at them, as well.  
  
Raphael skewered two of their laser blasters, one with each sai, and used his control of the heavy blasters to punch the Kraangdroids in their fleshy, gum-wad faces with their own blasters.  
  
Casey zoomed past the Kraang on rollerskates, swatting hockey pucks at them from every which way, and generally enjoying himself doing so.  
  
Mikey, Donnie, and April fought back-to-back-to-back in a triangle, blocking laser blasts from hitting each other and striking down any Kraangdroid who dared come near.  
  
“Is it just me,” April remarked, “Or are their laser beams more accurate than normal?”  
  
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Donnie said, “But I thought that was just because the three of us are standing relatively in the same place.”  
  
“Nope,” Raph yelled from across the room where he was tearing a robot apart at the joints. “I think so, too.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Casey said. “They're the same as always.”  
  
Donnie observed the Kraang’s firing style, trying to deduce if anything had changed. “They seem to be structured in the same fighting patterns.”  
  
“Look out!” April yelled. She shielded her tessen next to his eye, blocking a laser that would have hit him right on the side of his face.  
  
“Woah! Thanks, April. I didn’t see that one coming.” He traced the laser beam’s path to where it should have originated from on the ceiling, wondering why he hadn’t thought to block from that angle, only to realize that there was no blaster where the laser would have come from. “What?”  
  
Donnie completely ignored the idea of any offensive moves, switching for the moment to completely defensive, only twirling his bo staff ahead of him to block any incoming lasers as he surveyed the room around him.  
  
He gasped. “The laser beams! They’re moving in arcs, not straight lines!”  
  
“What?” Raph said, deflecting a beam off his sai.  
  
“They must have designed lasers to seek out mutant DNA,” Donnie realized, “That’s why Casey isn’t having any more trouble than usual.”  
  
“AAAAUGH!” April yelled.  
  
Donnie caught the stench of burning flesh, and looked over to see her clutching her wrist.  
  
Seeing an opening, the Kraang concentrated on her and started firing more lasers, all of the mutant-seeking beams bound to hit her no matter the angle.  
  
“Woah! Woah! Woah!” Donnie stepped in front of her and twirled his bo deflecting all the lasers that threatened to hit her.  
  
At the last second, one of the laser beams veered off-course and struck his hand, causing him to drop his bo staff.  
  
“Donnie!” Mikey cried. He jumped in front of Donatello, but Kraang quickly flooded behind the three of them, threatening to shoot them from their unguarded backs.  
  
Raphael and Casey caught onto their predicament and fell back to cover them.  
  
Donatello grabbed his slightly smoldering bo staff in his undamaged hand. “The gas container must be in the basement to be able to release into the sewers. We can’t even get to the staircase on the other side of the room, not with them firing at us with these mutant-seeking lasers.”  
  
Michelangelo deflected a laser beam with a twirl of his nunchucks. “Tactical retreat?”  
  
“Tactical retreat,” Donatello confirmed.  
  
“Lame!” Raph said, but backed up to cover the group as his brothers and friends turned and ran.  
  
Block. Stab. Block.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Raph judged his allies were all safely out of the building. He turned and bolted, but not before he could hear the Kraang give their next order.  
  
“Kraang, release the compound that is the compound that is to destroy the mutants that are known as a “nuisance” to Kraang.”  
  
The group turned the corner to where the Shellraiser waited in the alley.  
  
“We gotta get out of here,” Donnie said. “The sewer grates on this street will be the first to start distributing the gas, and we can’t be there when that happens.”  
  
They climbed aboard the Shellraiser. Raph closed the door.  
  
Mikey looked at Raph, unhidden, begging fear shining in his eyes. “What are we gonna do now?”  
  
Raph glanced around the Shellraiser, as if looking for another person-- or turtle-- to be able to answer that question, then caught himself. “I… I don’t know.”  
  
“We need to get far away from this building, before we can do anything,” April said. “Let’s go in the same direction the Mutanimals went; maybe we can catch up with them.”  
  
Raphael nodded and sat in the driver’s seat.  
  
“Do you think Master Splinter is out of the lair by now?” Mikey asked.  
  
Donnie gave a reassuring smile. “Sensei’s a master ninja. I’m sure…” His eyes darted to the side. “I’m sure he’s fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day, y'all!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention: injury-sensitive readers
> 
> The next few chapters are going to get a lot more descriptive as far as injury goes. I know some of you might be uncomfortable with that, so I have mapped out where the worst of it will be so that you can read and skip the meat of the description without missing any plot points.
> 
> If you skip from a word that is bolded until a word that is bolded and italicized, you will be have skipped the worst of the description.
> 
> Hope this helps! Enjoy!

The van in front of Slash made a sharp turn around the next corner, its tires squealing as the rubber fought to keep traction.  
  
Slash revved the Stealth Bike’s engine and followed suit.  
  
The odor of burning rubber mixed with exhaust fumes caught his nose and stung his eyes. He blinked, trying to keep them clear. An accident at this speed would certainly mean a nasty injury, at least.  
  
As if to spite him, the van sped up even more. So did Slash.  
  
He considered for a moment deploying the Stealth Bike’s armor cover to shield his head, but the bike wasn’t made for someone of his size. It was cramped enough how it was, let alone if he put himself in a cabin.  
  
The Kraang van swerved like a snake on the road, heedless of the horns honking from the opposite lane as the two vehicles nearly ran into the drivers on the other side of the road.  
  
Slash kept his eyes trained on the Kraang, wary in case they should try to shake him with a sudden turn.  
  
Which they did, ducking right onto a smaller street with another squeal of burnt rubber.  
  
Slash leaned on his bike as he made the same turn. The sense of gravity pulling him off the seat made him aware that the bike was about to topple over, and he quickly uprighted himself. Having not made the full motion of the turn, the bike’s headlight beams grew rapidly brighter against the brick building on the side of the street.  
  
“Whoah!” He yelled, yanking the bike the opposite direction and consequently setting himself up on a collision course with the other bordering wall.  
  
Slash jerked the bike to face forward.  
  
It had taken a split second to correct himself, but in that split second, his speed had dropped, while the Kraang van zoomed on faster than ever.  
  
Slash growled, a low, rumbling sound. He floored the gas and leaned forward, cold air stinging his eyes.  
  
He gained on the van, distance closing little by little.  
  
The van passed an intersection. A car pulled out behind it.  
  
Slash instinctively slammed the brakes, cursing the person’s horrid timing.  
  
Maybe he could pass the van.  
  
He leaned to the left to see past the car and van.  
  
A truck neared in the other lane, far, but just close enough that Slash wouldn’t be able to maneuver in front of the van without hitting it.  
  
Slash glanced to the right.  
  
Up ahead, he spotted a fence blocking the entry to a subway stairwell, guarding people from entering the stairwell the wrong way. The metal bars were warped; they were sloped back, hit by some big truck, no doubt.  
  
And about to get hit again, Slash mused as he veered onto the sidewalk.  
  
He stomped the gas pedal.  
  
The Stealth Bike gave a mighty roar. It lurched forward with the sudden speed change.  
  
Slash held the handlebars in a death grip. He glared at the bent metal fence like an old rival.  
  
A heavy jolt told Slash the bike’s front tire had mounted the fence. A second followed in quick succession.  
  
The makeshift ramp acted almost as a slingshot. One minute Slash was leaning forward to pick up speed, and the next, he leaned back, trying not to flip the bike.  
  
It was only when he was at the tip of his flight path, a story in the air, that he realized he had no plan of where this thing would land. The van was moving too fast for him to land in front of it.  
  
Next best thing, Slash mused, was to land it on top of the van.  
  
Slash aimed the bike. A second’s drop, a bone-rattling jolt coursed through his every cell, accompanied by the ear-splitting BANG of metal denting under a literal ton of force.  
  
The bike’s front tire had buried itself into the metal it collided with.  
  
Through the splitting, throbbing headache the landing gave Slash, he nodded to himself, deeming leaving an imprint of the Stealth Bike forever stamped into one of the Kraang’s vans a worthy accomplishment.  
  
He put the pedal to the metal once more and sped down the van’s roof and off the hood. The bike hit the ground running－or, so to speak, driving－ and zoomed ahead.  
  
Slash glanced over his shoulder.  
  
The passenger-side Kraang stood and reached behind its seat. It faced the windshield again, a missile launcher-looking weapon slung over its shoulder.  
  
The Kraangdroid leaned out its window and pointed the launcher at Slash.  
  
Slash tightened his grip on the handlebars. So much for not using the Stealth Bike’s armor.  
  
He flicked a switch on the dash between the handlebars, and plates of metal slid into a shell-shaped arrangement around the bike, leaving only a gap at eye level open.  
  
Slash glanced behind him again.  
  
Shoot. The metal plates blocked his view.  
  
A high-pitched whistle, however, told him the Kraang had launched a missile－or whatever they had put in that weapon launcher.  
  
Slash turned onto the next street. The mosquito-like whine followed him.  
  
Right. The Kraang would have calculated his maneuver.  
  
He took the next street he came across, followed it a block down, and stopped.  
  
Missiles or not, he needed to track that van.  
  
Slash flicked the switch again.  
  
The metal plates folded themselves and hid away.  
  
Slash stood up, surveying the street around him.  
  
He heard the roar of a speeding car to his left behind a row of buildings, which meant that the van was still on the same road he had seen it on last.  
He also heard a mosquito-like whine behind him.  
  
Slash whipped around just in time to see the missile diving straight for his head.  
  
He sat down and flicked the switch again. Had it been following him?  
  
Slash ducked his head.  
  
The metal plates came up.  
  
BOOM.  
  
The missile collided with one of the plates on his left, toppling the bike over.  
  
Slash braced himself for the impact. It jolted him again, worsening his headache.  
  
“Okay,” he muttered. “That wasn’t as bad as I-”  
  
Something started hissing. Slash could see a cloud of red-orange gas flowering on the left right outside the Stealth Bike.  
  
“What?”  
  
The gas started to seep inside through the gap between the plates.  
  
An instinctual panic seized Slash’s gut, and he raised his left arm to shield his head from this new, mysterious substance.  
  
He felt the cool beads of the vaporized liquid making contact with the skin of his arm.  
  
They were fine.  
  
Then they were not.  
  
 **It** was as if someone had dumped an entire colony of fire ants on his arm, then dunked it in vinegar as the millions of tiny insects sawed away at his arm, taking his flesh away piece by piece as if the fibres of his muscles were crumbs of bread.  
  
His arm looked as such, too, the gas pouring into the new dips in his arm it had hollowed out, creating a series of large and small semicircle dips, and more series of dips within those, like the flesh of a pomegranate after all the seeds have been stripped away. Like ants cutting out more crumbs.  
  
Nausea welled up in his gut, yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. It was slightly mesmerizing to watch how the gas swirled in the little semicircles of hollowed-out flesh for a second before creating more holes, how the gas had to combat the pools of blood welling up in the dips, to destroy before the blood could flood in and protect the outside of the eaten flesh from further damage.  
  
The spread of the gas snapped him back to reality.  
  
His arm had blocked the gas from getting to the entire right side of the cabin, but his entire left side was being eaten alive, shell _**included.**_  
  
The gas was trapped in the Stealth Bike with him. He needed to get out of there.  
  
He flipped the switch again and abandoned the battered bike on the street. He dashed away from the missile, which still leaked gas, until he judged himself a safe distance away.  
  
 **Slash** stopped to examine his arm. Blood ran down his arm the way rainwater would on a windshield during a heavy storm, and was readily refilling the cavity.  
  
“That can’t be good.”  
  
He gazed at his shell and leg as well.  
  
He couldn’t tell if the blood on his leg was from more holes, or if it was what had run off of his arm.  
  
The majority of the plastron on his left was eaten away, so thin in some places he could see his internal organs.  
  
He ran a ginger finger over the affected area experimentally. It was rough, yet a lot softer than he wanted it to be. His shell was no longer the permanent armor he’d always depended on. It felt weak. It had a consistency like it would be malleable, something Slash was most certainly not going to try to confirm.  
  
Even worse, his organs were even more exposed, even more susceptible now than a human’s would be. A turtle’s primary defense lies in his shell. While turtles do have ribs, their ribs are not built to protect the organs, being much too thin to block anything that could potentially strike them in between. Slash’s shell being more skin than anything, he wouldn’t be surprised if one well-aimed strike, even a soft one, would collapse his chest and everything in it.  
  
Slash found himself thinking back to an occasion when he’d had to explain to Mondo that turtles can, indeed, feel things against their shells as if they were skin.  
  
He now wished such weren’t true. His shell felt as bad as his arm, chipped and eaten away, and having an unpleasant graininess on it where bits of his carapace had fallen like sawdust on the part of his shell that was still intact. One of his spikes, he could tell without having to bring himself to look, was almost cracked through and would break off with another _ **blow.**_  
  
Slash growled, drew his mace, and slammed it into the ground. Spiderwebbed cracks split over the pavement.  
  
The van would be long gone by now.  
  
Movement caught his eye. He visually traced it to the sewer grate.  
  
The same gas billowed up in clouds from the grate.  
  
Slash gasped and looked behind him.  
  
The same was happening at the grate behind him.  
  
He looked down the street.  
  
At the interval of every drain grate, clouds of the stuff creeped out onto the street.  
  
Slash pulled the mace from where it was jammed, sheathed it, and ran.  
  
A second run-in with that substance didn’t seem like the most pleasant idea.  
  
***  
  
“Did you get the van?” Raphael asked Rockwell over his T-phone which he held in his hand, the other on the steering wheel.  
  
“No,” Rockwell admitted. “They eluded us. How did the storage facility turn out?”  
  
“They have some sort of lasers that seek out mutants,” Raph explained. “We couldn’t get past them. The lasers locked onto Donnie and April. They both got hit.”  
  
A series of gasps and concerned mutters sounded from the other end of the line.  
  
“Are they alright?” Leatherhead’s gravelly voice asked.  
  
Raph glanced over his shoulder. “How’s it looking, Donnie?”  
  
Donatello had let April sit down at his station, where he was using the light to examine her wrist.  
  
Mikey and Casey hovered behind him, staring at them with unmasked worry.  
  
 **Angry** red and pale white splotched April’s wrist, little root-shaped lines of discoloration crawling out from the area that had been hit, which now swelled up in a white-clear bubble.  
  
“How does it feel?” Donnie asked.  
  
“I can still feel it radiating heat.”  
  
Donatello inhaled sharply through his teeth. “I really wish I could get you back to the lair. We need cold water to run it under.”  
  
“Don’t you have some ointment to cool it?” Casey asked.  
  
“No. The ointment might cool it at first, but it would trap all the remaining heat under it.” He hovered a finger over the burn. “Tell me how this feels.” He brushed the blister, barely touching it at all.  
  
April hissed, hand instinctively jerking back before she willed it to stay still. “Hurts.”  
  
Donnie nodded. “That’s good. The burn looks pretty nasty; it’s even burned through some of the skin. But if you can still feel it, that means the nerves are still **_intact.”_**  
  
“What about yours?” Raph asked.  
  
“Mine’s not as severe as hers,” Donnie said, looking at his charred hand wraps. “My fingers were protected by my hand wraps; it barely got through.”  
  
“Looks like they’ll be okay,” Raph reported to the Mighty Mutanimals.  
  
“Great,” Rockwell said. “What about you, Slash? Were you able to stop your van?”  
  
The phone crackled.  
  
“Slash?”  
  
…  
  
“Slash?” Raphael called.  
  
“I can’t tell if he’s still on the line,” Rockwell said. “Did he hang up?”  
  
“I don’t know,” came Mondo’s voice.  
  
“Did anyone hear anything going on from his end? Did he get into a fight?”  
  
Raphael gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t know. We went into the building. We could have missed it.”  
  
“Slash?” Leatherhead asked again.  
  
He received no response.  
  
Michelangelo looked through the monitors at Donnie’s station as the genius turtle continued the examination of April’s and his own burns.  
  
“Uh, Dee?”  
  
Donatello looked up at the monitor. “Hmm?”  
  
Michelangelo pointed at billows of what looked like tiny, red-orange clouds rising from the sewer grates. “What is that?”  
  
Donnie gasped. “The Kraang must have released the mutant-eating chemical.”  
  
Michelangelo let out a nervous chuckle. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”  
  
“Splinter!” Raph exclaimed.  
  
“Drive towards the lair,” Donnie said.  
  
“You can’t go down there!” Casey objected.  
  
“No, but we’ll be able to pick Splinter up wherever he surfaces,” Donnie said. “The streets will probably be covered in the clouds by the time we get there, considering the rate at which they seem to be spreading, so hopefully he’ll know to stick to the rooftops.”  
  
“There’s gas coming from the grates here, too,” Rockwell said.  
  
April stood. “We can’t afford to let it separate us. Whatever the Kraang are planning, we have to stick together. We should all meet up where we think Splinter will be, then we need to get away from the clouds.”  
  
“Agreed,” Rockwell said. “We’re changing course now to meet you over the lair.”  
  
***  
  
When they got to the manhole closest to the lair, the streets were, indeed, covered in the red-orange clouds, the gas reaching halfway up the Shellraiser’s side.  
  
Raph brought the Shellraiser to a stop in front of the manhole, just in case－heaven forbid－ Splinter still needed to get out.  
  
Mikey reached to open the Shellraiser door.  
  
Donatello grabbed his mask tails and pulled him back. “Wait! Don’t let it in!”  
  
Michelangelo realized what he’d nearly done and jumped, then lowered his head and tapped his fingertips together with a sheepish laugh.  
  
Donatello pointed to the Shellraiser’s roof. “Let’s use that one instead.”  
  
Raph nodded and went to open the top exit. He pushed it open, glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, then signaled for everyone to follow him.  
  
Raphael spotted a fire escape on the adjacent building and leapt for it as the team clambered onto the Shellraiser’s roof one by one. He landed stealthily on it and moved to the side, clearing enough room for everyone else to jump while preparing himself to catch them should they miss. Should they fall, the ground wouldn’t be the only thing waiting to harm them.  
  
Mikey jumped across first, and wasted no time in rushing up the fire escape stairs to the rooftop.  
  
Donatello knelt on the Shellraiser’s roof and interlaced his fingers, offering April a boost.  
  
She took it, stepping on the makeshift platform and letting him launch her across the gap.  
  
Donnie offered the same to Casey, who declined in a silent you go first gesture. Donatello nodded, separated his hands, and shook the one that Raphael remembered with a pang was still injured.  
  
Donnie leapt across the gap, followed shortly by Casey, and they all raced up the stairs.  
  
Upon cresting the last stairs, the group found Mikey frantically dashing back and forth, looking wildly about.  
  
“I don’t see him!”  
  
A strangled noise escaped Donatello’s throat. “He’s... a master ninja. It would be logical for him to... camouflage himself with his surroundings right now, when the Kraang are after him.” He nodded to himself.  
  
Mikey whimpered.  
  
“Come on, you’ve only been looking for a minute,” Raph said. “We need to check the area. That isn’t the only manhole he could have come out of, you know.” He jumped across to the next rooftop.  
  
The rest of the group followed suit. They ran down to the end of the block and stopped where a road too wide to jump across ended their path.  
  
They looked around, but to no avail.  
  
“Where is he?” Mikey asked. “Where is he? I don’t see him!”  
  
“Be stealthy, Michelangelo.”  
  
Everyone turned around.  
  
“Sensei!”  
  
There stood Master Splinter, tank in his arms with Leo peering out at them. Splinter had managed to position the tank in such a way he could also carry a few corked vials in his hand, and he had his pinky looped through the handle of a small cooler, and although he looked uncomfortable, anyone of lesser balance would have surely dropped something or spilled the tank’s contents by now.  
  
“You’re okay!” Donatello said.  
  
“Yes. Thanks to your warning.”  
  
Raphael took the tank, Donatello, the vials.  
  
Michelangelo took the cooler and slid the lid back. A little pink head popped up and meowed warmly at him. Mikey sniffed and hugged the cooler, on the verge of tears. “Ice Cream Kitty!”  
  
“My sons, stay vigilant,” Splinter warned. “I have seen Kraang patrolling nearby.”  
  
“They’ve upgraded the heck out of their arsenal,” Raph reported.  
  
“Their laser blasts can lock onto mutant DNA and target it, even if the gun isn’t aimed correctly,” Donnie said, “Not to mention this mutant cell-eating gas they’ve released.”  
  
Splinter stroked his beard. “This is dire news indeed.”  
  
“We’re all just glad you’re okay, Sensei,” Donatello said.  
  
Splinter sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately, I was unable to take more than I could up to the surface. I had to leave Leonardo’s equipment behind.”  
  
“How long can he go without it?” Raph asked.  
  
“Hmm, let’s see… UVA/UVB bulb, heater, thermometer, filter, bubbler, food… “ Donatello counted on his fingers. “Depending on how long he goes without it, most important thing for him right now is that we don’t let his water get too cold. Then we need to make sure it’s oxygenated enough. Considering how fast the heat should disperse from his water, factoring in tonight’s weather, I’d say we have at least eight hours before he’s in any danger. More than that, probably, but let’s not take any chances.”  
  
Casey jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m not a mutant. Those puffy clouds can’t hurt me. I’ll backtrack to the lair and pick up everything else.”  
April shook her head. “Mutant or not, the Kraang can still hurt you if they find you. And with the cover of the gas to hide any fights they pick, they won’t be coy about it. You’re safer if you stay here.”  
  
Splinter nodded. “You should not go alone while the enemy is this active.”  
  
“Well, it’s not as if I can take any of you with me.”  
  
“Then stay here,” April said.  
  
“And what? Wait for the gas to come up here and eat you all alive?”  
  
“It won’t be long until the Mutanimals get here,” Raph said. “Then we can go somewhere safe to plan our next step.”  
  
April’s phone started to ring. She looked at the caller, then cast a wary glance around her before answering. “Hey, Dad.” She listened. “Oh, so the clouds are all over the news?” … “Yeah, I know. They’re part of the Kraang plot.”  
  
“The what now?” Were the only words April’s dad spoke loud enough for the guys to hear through the phone.  
  
April lowered her phone and glanced at the ninjas. “I think I just opened up a can of worms.” She raised her phone to her ear. “I’m with the guys, just outside the lair”… “We’re waiting for backup right now.”... “I don’t know.”... “Okay, I will.” … “I love you, too, Dad.” She hung up.  
  
“And?” Raph asked.  
  
“He wants to find somewhere in the gas there’s a large enough opening to pick me up and drive me somewhere safe.”  
  
“What are you going to do?” Raph asked.  
  
“This is the safest place I can be for now,” April said. “I guess I’ll stay here until either he or the Mighty Mutanimals get here.”  
  
Splinter nodded. “April, if you feel you should go with him for your own sake, no one here will hold it against you to save yourself. You have a life outside of us. Your father cares for you.”  
  
“Thanks,” April said, staring off into space. “But I don’t know what I’ll do. I think you all are a bigger part of my life than you give yourself credit for.”  
  
Splinter smiled, despite the situation. “We are fortunate to call you our friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day!


	7. Chapter 7

A vehicle rolled up in the street beside them some time later. The clouds had nearly reached the top of it, so the driver opted to drive up a few levels of the next-door parking garage to escape them.  
  
Once it was out of the fog, Donnie recognized the yellow exterior and green roof of the Party Wagon.  
  
“We should meet them where they are,” He suggested. “I don’t know if Leatherhead or Mondo would be able to get across to us without going down to street level.”  
  
He produced his grappling hook and launched it, successfully catching it over the ledge at the top of the parking garage.  
  
Donnie took a step forward, hesitated, and glanced back at the tank full of water. “How are we gonna get Leo across?”  
  
Casey picked the tank up. “I’ll go down to the road and carry it across.”  
  
Donnie nodded, made sure he had a reliable grip on all his vials in the hand that wasn’t holding the grappling hook, then jumped and swung across the street tarzan-style. He slid through the opening above the concrete barrier and landed gracefully on his feet right next to the now parked Party Wagon.  
  
Mikey, Raph, and April were quick to join him. They all pocketed their grappling hooks and approached the Party Wagon.  
  
Splinter appeared beside them, and for the life of them no one could have told anyone how or when he had gotten there, but that was Splinter for you.  
  
Casey rushed up the garage ramp a few moments later.  
  
The Party Wagon’s doors opened, and the three Mutanimals climbed out.  
  
“Are you all alright?” Leatherhead asked.  
  
“No more injured than when you last spoke to us,” Donnie said, examining his hand again for good measure, “If that counts as alright.”  
  
Splinter caught sight of his discolored flesh and came over to look at it, ears pinned back.  
  
Reading his gaze, Donnie tapped his wrist and inclined his head towards April.  
  
Splinter glanced at April’s wrist and stiffened.  
  
“We tuned in to the news on the way here,” Rockwell said. “The gas is due to spread all the way to the city limits within the hour.”  
  
Donatello tilted his head. “How much of that stuff do they have?”  
  
“I haven’t the slightest.” Rockwell gritted his teeth.  
  
“Do you know how quickly it rises upward?” asked Donnie.  
  
Rockwell shook his head. “The movement of the Party Wagon would have tampered with the airflow too much to get an accurate reading from inside.”  
  
“It’s rising too fast,” April said. “It’s gone up at least a foot from the time we left the Shellraiser to the time you arrived now.” She looked pointedly around at everyone. “Which means we only have so much time to do something.”  
  
“What can we do?” Donnie asked. “Their lasers will only lock onto us anymore, so going back to storage is a big “no,” on top of the fact that it’s the center of the mutant-eating gas dispersion, meaning it’s likely that the gas is thicker there, making it a double “no”. Besides, we don’t even know if there are any weapons left there.”  
  
“But we do know that the weapons were in the vans,” April said, “Meaning they had a different purpose than the gas. The Kraang might be trying to spread their fog even wider, with these weapons being the carriers. We need to find the weapons and destroy them before the Kraang carry out their plan.”  
  
“How are we supposed to stop anything with all the big cloudy things everywhere?” Mikey asked.  
  
Rockwell hummed. “There’s a chance that the gas here would be diluted, being further away from its source.”  
  
“Are we going to risk going through it?” Donnie asked. “Is that the best idea?”  
  
Rockwell shook his head. “No, but what other choice do we have?”  
  
Mikey hid his head halfway in his shell. “Who’s gonna test the clouds first?”  
  
“I will,” Rockwell said.  
  
He approached the ramp, the bottom half of which the red-orange mist could already be seen floating in. He stopped just before the line where mist met the untouched air.  
  
It was kind of beautiful. The mist looked like an otherworldly lake; slightly murky with kicked-up dust. Like you could wade into it and it would slosh at your feet and pool around your ankles.  
  
The prospect of touching the mist was almost like dipping his hand into lakewater－ if lakewater could potentially eat away your flesh at an unknown speed.  
  
Rockwell took a deep breath and stretched his hand out towards the gas.  
  
A cheery tune whistled from his phone, jolting his every nerve. He let out a long exhale and put his phone on speaker.  
  
“Doc!”  
  
“Slash!” everyone said, unevenly echoing each other like raindrops falling in a puddle.  
  
“Slash, where are you?”  
  
“I kept following the van. It took me a few miles east of where we last saw each other.”  
  
Doctor Rockwell sucked air in through his teeth. “East. That’s… that’s the opposite direction we went in to get here.”  
  
“Will you be able to get back?” Slash asked.  
  
“That depends,” Rockwell said. “We don’t know the severity of the gas the Kraang released. If it’s slow-acting, we might be able to move freely with a set margin of time so as to not expose ourselves for too long. I was just about to test it, see how fast it could really－”  
  
“NO!”  
  
“Slash?”  
  
“The clouds are… they’re really bad. Don’t try to fight through them; you won’t last.”  
  
Rockwell’s brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”  
  
Quiet.  
  
“Slash, are you okay?” Rockwell asked. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“I’m… I’ll be fine. You worry about yourselves.”  
  
“We’ll figure out how to get to you,” Rockwell said.  
  
Slash paused. “No. Don’t… don’t wait up for me. Get yourselves to safety.”  
  
“Slash?”  
  
“If you have to, leave me behind. Find a safe place for all of you to stay and reorganize.”  
  
“Slash!”  
  
The sound of Kraang laser fire started on the other end. Slash gasped.  
  
“I have to go.”  
  
Everyone shouted panicked protests at the phone, every one of them lost amidst the noise of all the rest.  
  
Raphael yanked the phone from Rockwell’s grasp. “Slash! Slash?”  
  
The screen stared up at him, black and hollow, the words CALL ENDED bold and unmistakable.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
Raphael stared down at the phone, a million thoughts washing over him at once.  
  
It was cruel, for the call ended screen to have a black background, all the better to see only his own lonely reflection staring back up at him.  
  
“Spike!”  
  
The group whipped around to face a humming sound behind them, to find themselves face-to-face with a group of Kraang, lasers fixed on them and charged, ready to fire.  
  
The first laser shot at Mikey’s head.  
  
He ducked half into his shell, peering out at the small army of Kraang. “Aw, sewer apples!”  
  
***  
  
Slash held his mace at the ready and assumed a fighting stance.  
  
The Kraang marched towards him, blasters firing, patterned as always despite having to separate to avoid the various satellites and vents on the roof.  
  
Of course, he thought, they would wait until he was alone to try to take him down. The cowards.  
  
“Too afraid to face my entire team?” He charged them with a mighty cry, weapon held high over his head.  
  
Upgraded technology or not, hitting them with his mace was like swatting flies.  
  
He put his full body into the swing, hoping to knock one Kraangdroid into another and send them all down bowling-pin style, and instantly regretted it.  
  
 **His** forearm’s muscle felt like it had been torn in two by the movement. Warm, sticky blood poured out his still-open wound and flew everywhere with the momentum.  
  
He let go the mace mid-swing, letting it bowl over all the Kraang in its path, and clutched his arm.  
  
Even cupping his hand around the wound for only a split second, it was still soaked red when he pulled it _**away.**_  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Kraangdroid wave exaggeratedly and beep in its alien language to someone behind him.  
  
Slash glanced over his shoulder to find more Kraangdroids patrolling the rooftops across the street. Upon spotting him, they opened fire, lasers as accurate as they would have been from only a few feet away.  
  
Slash ran away from them, knocking over the few Kraang he hadn’t taken out yet on his current rooftop.  
  
Crap. They were driving him even farther from the lair.  
  
He leapt across an alleyway, reaching up to be able to latch onto the building’s roof ledge as he came close to it.  
  
Slash caught the ledge in his hands and held on tight, ready to pull himself up onto the roof once he reached a stop.  
  
As his momentum halted, his weight settled into his arms and hands.  
  
 **If** his left arm were a rope made of fibres, some of those fibres had already been frayed that night. He could have sworn the rope snapped at that _ **moment**_.  
  
Slash made a strangled sound in his throat and let go the ledge with his left hand.  
  
His phone slipped out of his belt and fell several stories before disappearing into the gas and landing somewhere out of sight with a crack.  
  
He looked down to the alleyway filled with gas.  
  
His right hand, slick with blood, was slipping.  
  
Slash desperately rested his left hand against the ledge again and again, but each time, it pulled back with the burst of pain sent through his nerves with the light contact.  
  
He dug his right hand into the ledge for dear life. The gritty cement grains scratched his skin. The rough particles peeled lines in his already bloodsoaked hand.  
  
He slipped.  
  
Air roared in his ears. His mask tails whipped his face. His heart pounded against what remained of his shell. He flailed his arms about, seeking something to grasp.  
  
His right arm caught, up past the elbow, in between two metal rails of a fire escape fence.  
  
CRUNCH. POP.  
  
 **The** sloppy wet pop was enough to make him nauseous by itself. Coupled with the white-hot pain that seared through his arm, his stomach started bucking and churning right then and _**there.**_  
  
Slash gasped, shallow and ragged. His forehead seemed to suddenly jump up ten degrees.  
  
His feet dangled helplessly only inches above the gas.  
  
Slash did not want to see what had become of his arm, but the gas was rising, and his arm was stuck. He needed to free himself.  
  
Slowly, he turned his head towards his injury.  
  
 **His** arm was palm-up on the fire escape floor, as natural as if it were resting on a table. The elbow was what was very much not natural.  
  
He had no doubt the joint had dislocated. The end of the forearm sagged over the bone under his weight. His forearm faced up, the rest of him faced down. The flesh that used to cover the elbow was warped by the edge of the fire escape’s metal. He could see the shape of his bone bulging under his _**skin.**_  
  
Despite his attempts to keep them at bay, tears welled in his eyes. His vision blurred. The world warped and shifted around him.  
  
Slash shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
He focused on the bars of the fire escape beside his pinned arm, and slowly reached his left arm towards them.  
  
 **Blood** ran down his upper arm and over his shoulder, cold now, sticky and altogether unpleasant. His muscle strained with the slight movement. The fire escape was not far away, but it felt like he’d already stretched his arm past its limit, and inching forward as he did would snap it at any _**second.**_  
  
What felt like ages later, his hand felt the cool fire escape. He gripped the bar, though his hand was weak, as if its grip would hold no stronger than tissue paper.  
  
Slash brought his knees up to the escape and planted his feet on its side, then raised his hand to the rail and pulled himself up, sliding his dislocated arm up along the two bars it was trapped between.  
  
He tried to turn it so the palm was parallel with the bars.  
  
A flash of hot pain jarred his entire being, speckling his vision with moving white dots. His hold on the rail weakened.  
  
Slash tightened his hold on the rail, although it somehow didn’t feel any more secure.  
  
He dipped his shoulder and tilted himself downward to rotate his arm even while the elbow joint was still. He then straightened his knees to pull himself away, removing his arm from between the two bars.  
  
A sigh of relief would have been appropriate, had he not been on the verge of hyperventilation.  
  
Slash swung his legs over the rail, stepped onto the fire escape, and promptly collapsed.  
  
It was as if he’d suddenly come down with a fever in the past five minutes. He was hot and cold all at once, dizzy and nauseated, and his heart was pounding in his head and in both of his arms.  
  
He remembered a time when he was still Raphael’s pet, and the hotheaded turtle had gotten injured and been benched from patrol. Raphael had ranted to him about feeling useless in that moment, about being thrown into a position where he couldn’t do anything. Slash had thought that he’d understood Raphael then, that he’d known what Raph was talking about.  
  
He hadn’t known.  
  
Sitting here now, sick and hurt and alone, Slash felt horrible. He was miserable.  
  
But above all, he was embarrassed.  
  
This person sitting all alone, doing nothing despite being on the brink of an alien invasion, not helping his friends and allies, letting the poison slowly creep up towards him? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he wanted－ who he’d trained himself to be.  
  
He never wanted to sit on the sidelines. He never wanted to be like the inconsequential pet he’d once been. He’d grown tired of lying around even before having the sentience of a mutant; had somehow understood that the mutagen was the key to his usefulness that day he had become so much more than he was. He had vowed that day that he’d never pass up the chance to be in the action doing what he could. Maybe he’d even made that vow in the days before he was mutated. Who knows? Those transitioning days were so clear, yet so foggy in his memory. When exactly he had made that promise was a mystery to him, and it was a mystery to him if he’d even consciously made it. All he knew was, it was the rule he lived by, the rule he’d engrained in himself through the knowledge of what it was like to spend so many years having no influence on the path of history.  
  
And here he was, with that knowledge in his conscious, sentient mind, yet he was back to square one. Doing nothing. Being nothing.  
  
Catching his breath while the enemy’s toxin caught up to him.  
  
He closed his eyes. He hated the little white spots that danced on his eyelids. Hated every single one of them from the depths of his being. He let a growl escape his throat.  
  
Useless. Useless. Useless.  
  
He’d been through a good few minor injuries in his time as a crime-fighter, sure, but none as immobilizing－ as humiliating － as these. He’d underestimated the absolute misery that came with such an affliction.  
  
He suddenly understood every ounce of frustration Raphael had ever shown against being sidelined.  
  
Approaching mechanical footsteps snapped him back to reality. The Kraang must have found him.  
  
Slash dashed up the rest of the flights of fire escape steps, bitterly noting that even his mere footsteps pulsed through his already throbbing arms.  
  
He ran over rooftop after rooftop, getting farther away from his friends with each one.  
  
Trapping himself on the sideline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great day, y'all!


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone immediately moved to cover Casey, who still held the tank with little Leo inside.  
  
Donatello twirled his bo staff in his uninjured hand. “Would it kill them to leave us alone for one minute?”  
  
“It really wouldn’t kill _us_ ,” Michelangelo said.  
  
Raphael spun his sais. “If they won’t leave us, let’s give them a reason to. Teach these alien brains a lesson!”  
  
“Agreed. School is in session!” Rockwell aimed his psychic burst at a Kraangdroid and hit it dead center, sending it flying back into one of the ramp’s support poles with a loud metallic clang.  
  
“BOOYAKASHA!”  
  
Michelangelo jumped onto the ramp’s barrier. He pushed off of it and backflipped, pointing his nunchuck at a Kraangdroid’s skull. He triggered the nunchuck’s blade mechanism when the weapon was in place, slicing through the droid’s metal neck, then grabbed the severed head before sticking his landing on another Kraang’s shoulders, forcing it to the ground, and then throwing the head at the exposed fleshy brain of another Kraangdroid at full force.  
  
The head smacked the Kraang right in the face, and the little alien squealed, removing its tentacles from the controls inside its robot body to clutch at the afflicted area.  
  
While it was distracted, Donatello rushed up to the droid and stabbed it through the chest with his naginata blade. He swung the robot, which staggered about with his motion, into its companions like a giant hammer, pausing for only calculated seconds to bring the bot back to shield him from the part of the laser blast pattern that he thought would reach him. When he estimated the Kraang were just about to catch onto his tactic and adapt, he stomped on the Kraangdroid’s chest and pulled his blade out before switching back to his usual technique and backing up to cover Leo so that Raph could have a turn up at the heart of the action.  
  
Raphael grinned, much obliged to have his fight up close and personal. His plan was simple, forceful, and aggressive, just the way he liked it: stab the Kraangs’ stupid adapted lasers first so those couldn’t stand in his way, then bash them to pieces with whatever he could, fists or feet or sais.  
  
He chucked shurikens at their blasters, and before they could react, he had sunk his sais through their circuitry.  
  
Raph caught the Kraang as they fled their robot bodies like they were nothing more than chickens, and pitched them at their companions.  
  
One such unlucky Kraangdroid was right in the middle of firing when it got caught in the face by another alien brain flying right into its visual sensors. The droid peeled the Kraang brain away, only to be crushed the next second when Leatherhead flattened it, barrel-rolling it and its surrounding soldiers with his massive, crushing form.  
  
Mondo Gecko stayed behind Leatherhead, wielding his skateboard, swatting down any brainy heads that dared try to pop up again after his friend had crushed them, like a very strange game of whack-a-mole.  
  
Casey had the tank clutched in one arm, the side which April defended, skillfully swatting away lasers and slicing any enemies who dared come near with her tessen. With the other arm, he held his bat, swinging wildly about.  
  
As far as the Kraang were concerned, Splinter left nothing but a path of silent destruction in his wake. When his allies had the time to glance his way between bits of fighting, they would wonder when he had grown such a large path of robotic remains and stunned Kraang brains behind him.  
  
Donatello cut another robot down with his naginata, and stopped to glance around. “Uh-oh.”  
  
April, being the closest to the ramp where the clouds still rose, was the next to see.  
  
More Kraangdroids surfaced from underneath the cover of the fog, red-orange mist pouring off their forms like water running back into the sea of gas.  
  
Mikey screamed. “AAAAH! They’re just like the zombies that came from the lake in _Space Zombies 2: The Black Hole Strikes Again!_ ”  
  
“How many are there?” Donnie asked.  
  
“I can’t tell!” April said, backing up with Casey. “The fog is too thick, I can only see a few feet into it!”  
  
“We must go,” Splinter said. “We should not try to face an enemy we do not yet understand.”  
  
“Agreed,” Rockwell said.  
  
“This way!” Mondo called, dropping his skateboard on the ground and using it to climb the parking garage ramp to the next level.  
  
Rockwell and Leatherhead followed suit. April and Casey followed them, steadying Leo’s tank between the two of them as to not upset it too much, then the turtles and Splinter came last, covering their backs.  
  
Mikey gave Raph Ice Cream Kitty’s cooler and tossed a shuriken at a Kraang that had been coming too close.  
  
The Kraangdroid fell to the ground.  
  
They followed the turns of the ramps like flights of a staircase and came to the top of the garage: a balcony protected by more cement barriers to keep the cars from running off.  
  
“They’re close behind. We don’t have much time,” April said.  
  
“The gas would have started rising at the city outskirts last,” Donnie said. “It won’t be as covered. We need to go there to buy ourselves time.”  
  
“Which way?” Leatherhead asked.  
  
Donatello muttered to himself for a moment, eyes flicking left and right, following his mental calculations. “The facility was back… that way.” He pointed. “So the closest city limit, without having to get any closer to its origin would be… there!” He pointed another way.  
  
Casey handed Leo’s tank to Splinter.  
  
“I’m gonna get the Shellraiser and meet you there. Don’t want you to lose your sweet ride in the middle of an alien invasion.”  
  
Donnie nodded.  
  
Mondo ran to the edge of the building and peered at the ground. “The stuff’s almost up to the rooftops now,” he said.  
  
Raph motioned for everyone to follow him, the handle of Ice Cream Kitty’s cooler looped around his elbow. “Let’s move!”  
  
***  
  
Raphael made haste, racing a few rooftops ahead of everyone to check them for potential threats. When he judged the coast was clear, he slipped out his phone and clicked Slash’s contact.  
  
The phone rang out.  
  
Raph stared and waited.  
  
“We’re sorry. The number you tried to reach is unavailable at this time.”  
  
He hung up, slid his T-phone back into his belt, and kept going.  
  
Splinter somehow managed to keep the tank steady even while running rooftop to rooftop. He only spilled a drop skidding to a halt when a laser blast flew by his head.  
  
“Um, guys?” Mikey said. “I think they caught up.”  
  
Everyone turned to find the Kraang on the elevated rooftop behind them, pointing lasers amidst other weapons down at them.  
  
Donnie narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar weapons some of the Kraangdroids had in their grasp. “Are those…”  
  
“The mutant-hunting weapons,” Rockwell finished his sentence.  
  
Raphael doubled back to help them.  
  
Splinter turned the way he’d been running. “Let us hurry.” He continued on.  
  
“We’re almost there!” Donnie said. “Just a few more blocks!” He pulled out his phone and texted Casey the location.  
  
Everyone sprinted forth, scrambling over ledges and leaping over alleyways.  
  
Michelangelo, bringing up the rear of the group, glanced behind him.  
  
One of the Kraangdroids had stopped a few buildings back, and had a missile launcher-looking thing propped on the roof, the missile aimed at the retreating group.  
  
“Not today, punk!” Mikey said.  
  
He whizzed past the closeby Kraangdroids that were targeting his brothers.  
  
The Kraangdroid with the missile aimed and centered on its target: Splinter, holding poor Leo’s tank.  
  
Michelangelo jumped atop the roof where the Kraangdroid fought.  
  
He swung his nunchucks and struck the Kraangdroid in its robotic chest, forcing it away from the missile’s scope.  
  
The missile launcher-type weapon fell on its side and beeped. Something in it whirred, then the missile shot out of it and burst against the wall of a surrounding building.  
  
At once, a cloud of fresh, undispersed fog released into the air. The cloud swarmed all walls of the building Michelangelo stood upon, blocking his view of anything that went on around him and trapping him on that roof.  
  
Mikey grabbed the Kraangdroid who had been manning the launcher and threw it off the building’s side.  
  
Fighting sounds echoed distantly, the mingled calls of his allies and robotic chirps and code, all tied together by crashing and banging.  
  
“Guys?” Mikey called towards the fighting sounds.  
  
He didn’t get a response from his allies.  
  
However, several more Kraangdroids heard him and climbed up the building to where he was trapped.  
  
“No, not you!” He cracked their fingers and bashed their skulls with his nunchucks as they came up. “Guys!” he called into the fog. “Guys, can you hear me?”  
  
On the other side, the rest of the team was only a block away from the meeting place.  
  
“Fall back,” Donnie said. “We’re wasting our time fighting them. We can easily run the rest of the way without them causing us trouble; it isn’t that far.” He turned and ran.  
  
Alongside him, he heard the engine of a vehicle pass. Or was it two?  
  
“That must be Casey,” Raph said.  
  
As they reached the end of the block, the fog grew shallower, thinning out until it was only knee-deep, exposing the Shellraiser and another vehicle coming to a stop.  
  
Donatello descended the side fire escape of the last building on the block, then leapt atop the Shellraiser. He looked at the other vehicle. “The party wagon?” he muttered to the group as they joined him one by one. “But who’s-”  
  
The Party Wagon’s door opened, and Kirby O’Neil stepped out.  
  
Kirby looked around, then catching sight of the figures atop the Shellraiser, looked up.  
  
“April!”  
  
April slid off the Shellraiser’s top and landed on a dumpster in the alley, knees bending for a moment with the impact before she sprung back up. “Dad!”  
  
Kirby ran towards her and reached up.  
  
April knelt down, and the two enveloped each other in a warm hug before breaking apart to talk face-to-face.  
  
“Dad, where did you come from? How did you get the Party Wagon?”  
  
“I ran into Casey as he was getting into the Shellraiser,” Kirby explained. “He told me where it was; I swear I can’t see a thing in this…” he held his palm out and looked at it, as if he were examining the fog in it. “Whatever this is.”  
  
“It’s a mutant-eating compound,” April explained. “The Kraang invented it to try to stop the guys from interfering with their plot.  
  
Kirby started. “Mutant-eating? But you’re…!”  
  
April nodded, and gestured to the dumpster she was perched upon to avoid it. “I know. I can’t touch it.”  
  
Kirby held a hand to his chest. “My dear baby girl… we need to get you out of here. We’re leaving. Now.”  
  
“Retreat seems our best option,” Splinter admitted.  
  
Raph shook his head and met Splinter’s gaze. “No. Slash is still out there!”  
  
Splinter nodded solemnly. “I know. But we cannot afford to risk the safety of anyone else for his.”  
  
“We’re not leaving without him!”  
  
Rockwell shook his head. “Raphael, I’m truly sorry to say so, but Splinter is right. Slash urged us to go on without him if need be, and if we stay here any longer, we risk all the rest of our lives. We need to preserve ourselves for the moment, until we can find another way to end the Kraang plot. If we are not around to stop the Kraang, who will?”  
  
“The farmhouse served as a good second base before,” Donnie said.  
  
Raphael shook his head in disbelief. He stopped to meet every person’s gaze, something close to a plea in his eyes.  
  
Everyone looked sorry.  
  
But no one else objected to retreating. No one else objected to leaving their friend and ally behind. Did they not care?  
  
Raph looked around the group once more, for any sign of doubt. His brow creased. He looked around again.  
  
Splinter nodded. “Then that is where we will go.”  
  
Raph’s head whipped from side to side. His eyes grew wide. “Guys, where’s Mikey?”  
  
Donnie gestured behind him. “He’s right her-” Donnie jumped, and joined Raph in his frantic searching. “Mikey? Mikey!”  
  
“Michelangelo!” Splinter called.  
  
“Mikey!  
  
“Michelangelo?”  
  
“Aha!” said a voice above them. “Kraang has found the ones known as the ones to be destroyed.”  
  
Everyone looked at the top of the building they’d just come down from.  
  
Kraang heads peeked out from over the ledge.  
  
Leatherhead roared and lunged for the building. He climbed the flights of the fire escape like rungs of a ladder before disappearing over the top. Flashes of pink lit up the night sky, accompanied by roars, and crashes.  
  
A stray laser hit the window of the building across the street, and bounced off the glass, sending it right between Mr. O’Neil and April.  
  
Kirby yelped and ran to the Party Wagon’s door, opening it before carrying April over, careful not to lower her into the gas, and shutting her safely inside. He hopped into the driver’s seat.  
  
Donatello gazed towards the hidden fight and drew his bo staff. “Mikey was just with us. I bet the Kraang right there have him!” He looked at Raph.  
  
Raph went pale, eyes trained on his T-phone he held in front of him which rang out, chanting an almost incomprehensibly fast, “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”  
  
Donatello grabbed Raph’s wrist and shoulder and shook him, snapping him from his thoughts. “Raph! Mikey doesn’t have his T-phone with him, remember? You can’t reach him! You could, however, do the most you can in this situation right now and help me deal with these Kraang on the roof to see if they have him!”  
  
Raph gasped and shook his head, pulling himself free, and nodded.  
  
He drew his sais and stood beside Donatello.  
  
Before they could move, however, Leatherhead fell over the side of the building.  
  
Splinter swept them to the side of the Shellraiser’s roof just before the gator landed, spine down, where they had been standing.  
  
An ear-splitting bang resonated loud and clear in the closed-off alley.  
  
Splinter knelt by Leatherhead’s side. “Are you alright?”  
  
Leatherhead took a few raspy breaths. “I… am fine. Do not worry about me.” He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet.  
  
“Mikey,” Raph said. “Do they have Mikey up there?”  
  
“I… did not see him,” Leatherhead said.  
  
Raph’s shoulders drooped.  
  
A Kraangdroid pointed a missile launcher over the edge of the building.  
  
“We must go,” Splinter said.  
  
Raph stomped up to where Splinter stood. “No! No turtle left behind! That’s our rule!”  
  
“We cannot risk trying to find them, not with the odds stacked against us like this,” Splinter said.  
  
“So you want to leave them both behind in this mess?”  
  
“Of course I do not want to,” Splinter said, “But there is more at stake here than our family. We must stop the Kraang plot.”  
  
“Who’s to stop the Kraang plot if we don’t have any family left?”  
  
BANG. The missile landed right beside the Shellraiser. A wave of fog rushed towards them.  
  
Rockwell and Mondo twisted the Shellraiser’s hatch open and fled inside.  
  
Splinter leapt from the Shellraiser to the Party Wagon. Donatello and Leatherhead followed, then quickly ducked inside through the back when April opened it to let them in, Donnie carrying Leo’s tank and Ice Cream Kitty’s cooler.  
  
April closed it behind them, as to not let the gas in, and pressed her face against the window so she could see right away when someone else wanted to come in.  
  
The fog swallowed the back half of the Shellraiser and quickly snaked towards Raphael.  
  
“Raphael, come here.”  
  
“No,” Raph said. “I’m not going over there with you.”  
  
“My son, you’ll get hurt.”  
  
“Oh, and that suddenly matters to you?” He jabbed his hand back the way they came, the other one clenched by his side. “Mikey and Slash are in the middle of this mess! What about how hurt _they_ are! If we leave them behind, they could die! Don’t they matter to you?”  
  
“There is no way back,” Splinter said. “Not without hurting yourself. Your life matters to me just as much!”  
  
Raph stared him dead in the eye. “It shouldn’t!”  
  
Splinter started.  
  
Raphael refused to look away. He stared Splinter down with what his father knew was supposed to be confidence, but he saw the tears at the corners of his son’s eyes that Raphael tried to hide.  
  
“Raphael.”  
  
Raph’s eyes burned green－acid, poison that threatened to melt away Splinter’s heart.  
  
Splinter had seen that same look many years ago, in the eyes of Oroku Saki.  
  
Different color, same intentions.  
  
“Raphael.” Splinter adopted a soothing tone. “The fog is coming too close to you. Step away from it.”  
  
Raphael stood still.  
  
The fog brushed his foot.  
  
Splinter gasped.  
  
Raph still met his gaze; refused to look away.  
  
**The** fog started to eat at the edge of his foot, turning the flesh pink and then beginning to bore holes in _**it.**_  
  
Only then did Raph hiss and step back, finally breaking eye contact and looking around himself.  
  
He glanced the way they’d come, searching that direction up and down and left and right for something. Anything. A path? A pocket? A gap?  
  
There was nothing but the abyss of the fog that threatened to swallow them all and destroy them.  
  
But there was movement, somewhere above. It got closer and closer, all too fast.  
  
The missile screamed by and hit the driver’s side window of the Party wagon.  
  
The glass shattered. Mist started to seep in.  
  
Raph gasped. “Donnie!”  
  
Splinter ran to the back and tapped on the door.  
  
April opened it for him, and shut it promptly when he was inside.  
  
“We must go,” Splinter said. “The missile is still outside. We must leave before enough fog invades to be harmful.”  
  
Kirby started the engine.  
  
Splinter raced to the window and peered out to where Raph was still standing atop the Shellraiser.  
  
Raphael cast one more glance around him, undoubtedly looking again for a path back to his brother.  
  
The gas creeped ever closer, though, and he retreated to the Shellraiser’s hatch.  
  
Splinter sunk against the van’s wall with a sigh of relief.  
  
The Shellraiser turned onto the main road, and the Party wagon was soon to follow.  
  
As they left the city, the fog level shrunk lower and lower with any hope of finding their friend and family.  
  
Splinter looked out the back window, watching it fade into the distance.  
  
Something wouldn’t let him let it go. Raphael’s words tugged at his gut.  
  
They still had family back there. Family they promised not to abandon.  
  
Splinter threw the back door open and watched the road pass under the van.  
  
Donatello leapt to his feet. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Raphael is right,” Splinter said. “So long as there is a chance of saving our family…”  
  
Donnie shook his head. “Sensei?”  
  
Splinter jumped from the van.  
  
Time seemed to slow down. Even no longer in the van, the road still passed quickly under Splinter’s feet. The world around him moved kind of strangely, and he became aware of something else moving towards them in the distance. He squinted at it.  
  
He made out the shape of another missile, headed directly for him, and the van’s back door, still gaping wide open.  
  
Something tightened around his waist.  
  
Leatherhead caught him and pulled him into the van.  
  
Donnie slammed the doors just before the missile could impact, sending a loud jolt through the Party Wagon and momentarily lifting its back tires off the ground.  
  
Leo’s tank sloshed everywhere. The poor turtle dove to the bottom to avoid being thrown out.  
  
The fog swallowed their way back.  
  
Splinter just stared.  
  
Everything was so surreal.  
  
“My son…”  
  
He watched the city grow smaller with distance.  
  
Donatello stood beside him, stunned and utterly silent.  
  
Leatherhead’s breathing sounded close to hyperventilation, and no one even had to look to know April was sobbing.  
  
Kirby kept his eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, the other clutching his daughter’s shaking hand.  
  
Donatello reached down to grab Leo’s tank and clutch it close to his chest like a lifeline.  
  
He and Splinter stood in silence and watched the city shrink smaller, smaller, smaller, gone.  
  
Just… gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun was rising over the horizon when the Shellraiser pulled up in front of the farmhouse, and the Party Wagon beside it, parking side-by-side on the front lawn.  
  
The Party Wagon’s engine ran for a second longer after it was parked, then Kirby turned and pulled the key, and everything became unsettlingly quiet.  
  
Two vehicles, nine people, a turtle, and a cat sat before the house, and no one dared move.  
  
Moving would be accepting this as their reality and trying to work through it, instead of letting themselves lose their immersion in this whole night that seemed like a dream, and waking up to another day back where they had started, where everything had been fine only two days ago.  
  
Donatello looked up at the old house, unpleasant memories washing over him.  
  
The last time his family had pulled up to this house, it had been in the midst of an alien invasion in New York. They’d had to leave their friends behind in the city, and a beloved member of their family, too. Leo had been out of action, and no one was sure if he’d ever be the same again, if he survived the ordeal.  
  
Little has changed, Donatello thought to himself bitterly.  
  
The longer the group sat there, the more they settled into the spell of not wanting to accept the reality presented before them.  
  
Donatello elected to be the first one to move, reaching for Leo’s tank.  
  
Leo needed help, and delaying to give him such could just cause their harsh reality to get a lot harsher.  
  
Donnie supported the tank in both hands, and nodded to Leatherhead and then the door.  
  
Leatherhead pushed the Party Wagon’s back doors open.  
  
Donnie gave the gator a nod of thanks and stepped down onto the grass and gravel ground. He started for the house.  
  
Mr. O’Neil got out of the driver’s seat and produced a key as he walked to the front door, then pushed the door open for Donatello to walk through.  
  
The dark inside of the house had started to collect dust, and someone could tell from the lack of scattered items that it had been unlived in for quite some time. There were no keys or coats hanging by the door, no bits of mud or specks of trash that people hadn’t realized they’d left behind as they went about their day, no tissues or books or anything. The entire house smelled more of house, of old wood and musty odors drifting up from the basement, than of life. There was no aroma of baked goods drifting through the air, no fragrances of flowery laundry detergent washing away at sweaty, lived-in clothes, even no smells of cleaning supplies to explain the blankness, the emptiness of it all.  
  
Someone who hadn’t seen the house before might have remarked that it was unwelcoming because of the haunted feeling it gave off.  
  
Donnie would have said it was unwelcoming for entirely different reasons.  
  
There was no aroma of coffee to ready Donnie for the day after a long work night. There was no sound of Raphael training outside.  
  
There was no flicker of candlelight that said Leo was meditating.  
  
There was no cheerful tune and metallic clinking that said Mikey was cooking some awful concoction for them to try.  
  
Donatello walked into the dining room and sat Leo’s tank far into the middle. He examined the little turtle for any sign of distress, but once the water had stilled, Leo went about minding his own business.  
  
“How’s he doing?”  
  
Donnie jumped a mile in the air. “Raph!” He held a hand to his chest and exhaled, doubling over against the table.  
  
April came into the room and stood a good distance away from them. “What does Leo need replaced?”  
  
“His bulb,” Donnie said, regaining his composure.  
  
April held a finger up. “Oh! I know where some spares are.”  
  
“It has to be UVB,” Donnie said, otherwise he’s susceptible to not getting the right vitamins.”  
  
April pursed her lips. “I’m not sure if we have any of those.” She hummed. “It’s a long way to the nearest pet store. Why don’t you list everything you need, and I’ll get Dad or Casey to drive me there and pick it all up?”  
  
Donatello produced a notepad and pen from his belt and started scribbling some notes down. “A long way to the nearest pet store as in…?”  
  
“Half an hour or so.” She checked her phone. “And besides that, it probably won’t be open for another four hours.”  
  
Donnie paled. “Four hours? You’d better get there right at opening time, and hurry.”  
  
“How much time does he have left until something could happen to him?”  
  
“In theory, it would take at least a few days for something to go seriously wrong as an effect of not having the proper tank equipment, but Leo isn’t just a pet turtle. Let’s not put that to the test. Besides, his case might be different, with him being more adjusted to living like a human. The sooner you can get everything, the better.” He handed the list to April, who tucked it into her pocket.  
  
Everyone else had filtered in through the door by now.  
  
“In the meantime,” Splinter said, “We should sort out our arrangements for staying in this house. We may be staying here a while.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Donatello caught Raphael’s fists clenching.  
  
“I’m afraid there aren’t enough bedrooms to accommodate everyone,” Kirby said.  
  
“That is quite alright,” Leatherhead said. “I would not fit in a bed, anyway. I am content to stay wherever I am needed.”  
  
“Yeah, I can sleep on the floor or wherever, too,” Mondo Gecko said. He shrugged. “At least there will be a floor; I just slept on concrete for a while after my parents kicked me onto the streets.” He said so as casually as if he were stating his favorite soda brand, completely oblivious to Splinter’s and Mr. O’Neil’s horrified expressions.  
  
Raphael crossed his arms. “We just got here and we’re talking about sleeping arrangements! Hello? Do none of you remember that we just left Mikey and Slash back in New York with the alien invasion?” He looked pointedly at Splinter. “Ring a bell for anyone?”  
  
“Raph, there’s nothing we can do,” Donatello said.  
  
Raph threw his hands up. “Oh! There’s nothing we can do! So why don’t we all just make ourselves comfortable and sit back and relax because we’re not in front of the problem anymore, unlike the two we just abandoned back there! They could be eaten alive at any second, but not us! So hey, why don’t we just kick our feet up and forget everything that just happened! Nothing we can do, so why should we worry about it?” He smiled sweetly, the expression not gracing his eyes, and clasped his hands together with a tilt of his head. “Is there anything I could get you? Maybe a bath bomb, or some caviar?”  
  
Donatello slammed his fists on the table, making poor little Leonardo leap from his basking rock and hide away under a decorative plant.  
  
“Oh, and a lot of good you’re doing, pointing out just how little we’re doing to save our friends－our family－ after we got chased out by the same thing that could eat us alive! Obviously, we all collectively decided not to care about any of them anymore and prance off into the countryside to laugh amongst ourselves about how we abandoned them! Yeah, no. Shut up, Raph. I’m sick of you pretending you’re the only one who sees the problem and whining about it while the rest of us are actually trying to come up with a plan to solve it instead!”  
  
“Donatello! Raphael! Enough!”  
  
Donatello deflated at Splinter’s voice. Raphael turned and glared.  
  
“Arguing will not help the situation. In times like these, we must all work together and- Raphael, where are you going?”  
  
“Anywhere I don’t have to listen to the two of you!” Raph stormed out of sight.  
  
The front door creaked open, and slammed shut.  
  
“Raph!” Donnie called. He walked towards the door. “Raphael!” He felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Leave him be,” Splinter said. “He needs time to reflect.”  
  
Donatello gazed at the front door.  
  
There had been days back at the lair when his brothers had been too noisy, too distracting for him to work, and all he’d wished for was for his brothers to leave him alone, if only for a few minutes.  
  
Now, he didn’t want Raph to leave him alone.  
  
It was too much to be separated from all three of his brothers.  
  
***  
  
“Guys?” Michelangelo called for what might have been the thousandth time. His voice was starting to crack now, from overuse or from something else, he couldn’t tell.  
  
He tried hard not to cry, but it became increasingly difficult with each passing second. Every second gone was another second his brothers might be hurt, or worse, and he wasn’t there to help.  
  
He had managed to beat all the Kraangdroids that had tried to stop him, and had done so receiving only a few cuts and bruises. He’d been trapped on the roof since then, desperately waiting for his bros to come back, alive and unharmed, to save him.  
  
Hope that had been depleting for the past hour.  
  
He paced from one corner of the roof to the next, continuing to call out to his family.  
  
“Guys? Donnie? Raph? Sensei?” He let out a laugh, then mentally scolded himself for laughing. What was funny about this?  
  
“Um, I’m still up here, but uh, I kinda need help, guys.” He walked to the next corner. “I know I messed up, but I really can’t get down.”  
  
He cast a wary eye at the clouds below, which were still rising up, threatening to swallow him once they crested the building’s ledge. They had steadily slowed down, but the longer the guys stalled rescuing him, the more imminent they felt.  
  
“I’ve learned my lesson. Come get me.” He looked around. “Please.”  
  
He made another lap around the square of the rooftop. “This isn’t funny, Raph! Is this revenge for all the pranks I played on you? Fine! You have your revenge! But I never threatened you with anything dangerous! I’m not that low!”  
  
He paused, giving them time to respond.  
  
No one talked to him.  
  
“Donnie, make him stop! He’s had his laugh! This isn’t funny anymore!”  
  
A thunderclap rang out overhead.  
  
Mikey yelped and stumbled back.  
  
Rain poured down at once, creating a pattering roar as the drops hit the pavement and concrete.  
  
Michelangelo realized his calls would soon be drowned out in the storm and hastened to cry out, “I’m serious! Someone come get me! Anyone! Leatherhead! April! Casey! Rockwell! Mondo!”  
  
He stopped, and let the storm drown out his murmur of “Leo.”  
  
He allowed himself to cry.  
  
He could pretend it was only the rain when his brothers came to save him.  
  
“Guys,” Mikey said. His voice wavered. “Help. I’m scared.” He hugged himself. “I know I messed up, but this is too much for-” He stopped.  
  
Too much payback for what he’d done? For nearly opening the Shellraiser’s door and letting the fog eat them alive? For being too clumsy and getting Leo unmutated?  
  
He hung his head. “No. No, you’re right.”  
  
He looked over the building’s edge at the looming fog.  
  
The rain had pushed it down for now.  
  
Mikey gazed over the rooftops.  
  
Most of them were clear now, enough that he could zig-zag a path without stepping in the gas.  
  
He wasted no time in bolting the same direction the guys had been traveling when they’d been separated.  
  
“Guys? Guys!” he called again, voice still cracking and hoarse. “Donnie? Raph? Sensei?” When he reached the end of the block, he used his nunchuck to latch onto the building ahead on the other side and swing across. He continued right on, running and running and running and calling and calling and calling.  
  
And not one time did anyone call back.  
  
Call－ that was it!  
  
Mikey skidded to a stop and reached for his belt, grinning to himself.  
  
What an idiot he was!  
  
His hand met an empty spot where his T-phone should have been.  
  
His grin slipped, and he frantically patted his whole belt. Right. He’d forgotten it.  
  
What an idiot he was.  
  
Mikey’s lip quivered, but he kept going. “Raph?” he called once more, voice even unsteadier. “Donnie?”  
  
He ran over rooftop after rooftop, avoiding fog-covered ones as necessary, calling their names all the while.  
  
The storm roared louder. Mikey cried out louder.  
  
He ran and called and called and called and called his brothers, his father, his friends, his allies.  
  
No one came for him.  
  
By the time the rain lightened up, Michelangelo’s voice was gone.  
  
He stopped and stood alone, cold, wet, and shaking.  
  
Unimpeded by the rain, the fog started to rise again.  
  
He didn’t have much time.  
  
He ran again, putting as much air through his lungs as he could, but only getting a wiry screeching out of his battered voice. It would be a miracle if his brothers even recognized the sound as him if he passed them.  
  
Nevertheless, he ran forward, no plan, no sense of direction. He just ran, faster and faster, hoping somehow, by some chance he would be in the right place at the right time for them to see him.  
  
As he ran overtop an apartment building, he heard something move on the adjacent rooftop at his unnerving cry.  
  
Michelangelo stopped, bolted to the edge, and peered down.  
  
“Slash!” Mikey exclaimed, although it was less his ally’s name, and more a wiry hiss that vaguely resembled the sound of the name.  
  
He grabbed the ledge of the building he was on, flipped over it, and used it to swing himself onto the rooftop Slash rested on.  
  
“Michelangelo,” Slash said. His voice sounded relieved, yet he pulled his shoulders up around him and glanced to the side.  
  
“Your arms!”  
  
**Slash’s** arms were more red than green. The left had a large, blood-filled gash with more caked, dried blood gathered around its edges and dried streams where it had run to his elbow.  
  
The only thing Mikey could say about Slash’s right arm, was that it looked all kinds of wrong.  
  
The arm hung limply by his side, swollen and angry red. His elbow resembled a balloon more than it resembled an _**elbow.**_  
  
Mikey reached for his arm, to which Slash pulled away and flinched.  
  
Michelangelo retracted his hand with a pang at seeing what his ally had done because of him. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Slash met his gaze. “Where are the guys?”  
  
Michelangelo fought to keep tears at bay. “I can’t find them.”  
  
Slash took a minute to process this, probably to pull apart what Michelangelo had said because of his voice. “Oh.”  
  
“Do you have any idea where they might be?” Mikey asked.  
  
“They probably left.”  
  
Mikey blinked. “Left?”  
  
“Yeah, it would have been the smartest thing for them to do.”  
  
Mikey shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t. Raph wouldn’t let them. No turtle left behind.”  
  
“I told them to leave me,” Slash said.  
  
Mikey tilted his head.  
  
“I told them to leave me,” Slash repeated, “If they needed to.”  
  
But Mikey hadn’t told them that they could leave _him_.  
  
“It was the right decision,” Slash said. He looked at himself. “There’s not much I can do for them.”  
  
Was that why, then? They’d break their own rule if the person in question couldn’t do anything right?  
  
Mikey shook his head.  
  
They wouldn’t leave. And even if they did, it would have been because they had no other option, because it was within the entire city’s, perhaps the entire world’s best interests.  
  
Not because they were losing dead weight.  
  
If that were the case, they would have taken Slash with them.  
  
“Do you have your phone?” Mikey asked.  
  
Slash shook his head. “No, I dropped mine. I take it you don’t have yours either, if you’re asking?”  
  
Mikey shook his head. He didn’t want to explain that he didn’t even have dropping his own as an excuse, so he said nothing.  
  
Michelangelo pulled his medkit out and produced a bottle of antiseptic.  
  
Out of all the brothers, Donnie had the most extensive medkit on him at all times, and the largest bottle of antiseptic to go with it, being the elected doctor for minor wounds and keeping injuries under control until Master Splinter could look at the injury.  
  
Looking at the giant gash in Slash’s arm, Michelangelo wished he had Donnie’s medkit to dress it.  
  
More than that, he wished Donnie was there.  
  
Michelangelo gestured to Slash’s arm.  
  
Slash offered the said arm, although he stared at the wall while Michelangelo cleaned it.  
  
Being someone himself who often had to look away when Donnie did anything medical to him, Mikey wondered if Slash was scared, too. Somehow, that didn’t seem right.  
  
He ran out of ointment before dressing the entire wound, but he’d treated the worst of it.  
  
Sensing he was done, Slash nodded, then looked over the building’s edge. “The fog is almost here,” he said.  
  
“What are we gonna do?” Mikey asked.  
  
“I’m in no condition to fight,” Slash admitted, “And you look exhausted. We need to find somewhere this gas won’t get us.”  
  
“Someplace far up?” Michelangelo suggested.  
  
“That might work. We need to find some abandoned spot in a tall building to stay a while, at least until we’ve got some energy back.” He stood slowly, making sure not to drag his dislocated arm on anything, and stumbled. He motioned with his dressed hand to stop when Michelangelo moved to catch him. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”  
  
Michelangelo raised an eyebrow. He doubted Slash was fine.  
  
Then again, if anyone could see into his mind, no one would say differently for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the end notes keep saying the same thing. I'm having trouble with AO3.


	10. Chapter 10

Upon April’s and Kirby’s return, everyone helped them unpack, bringing Leo’s equipment to the table－ everyone except Raph, that was. Raphael still hadn’t returned.  
  
Even after everything was inside and they were unboxing all the equipment, Mondo still glanced at the door.  
  
“We brought everything in,” Mr. O’Neil clarified when he saw Mondo looking.  
  
Mondo just nodded.  
  
The equipment hadn’t been what－or who－ he’d been looking for.  
  
More than once, he’d been told he was insensitive, by acquaintances, by his friends, by the very parents who disowned him upon his mutation.  
  
He hadn’t meant to anger Raphael by talking about their arrangements at the farmhouse; it had seemed like the best thing to do to sort out their current state. He hadn’t known Raphael would be so sore about them staying here.  
  
But hindsight is 20/20, and considering Raphael had just lost a brother, possibly two, it became clear that perhaps he should have been more considerate about referencing their inability to do anything about it.  
  
It wasn’t like the loss hadn’t affected him, too. Leonardo had seemed like a very good and caring person, and Michelangelo had pulled him out of the underground mutant gang he’d been a part of, even after he’d betrayed the said poor turtle. Michelangelo had been a true friend. Mondo just processed complex emotions slower. Today he was fine, if not a little dazed, but he knew sometime later that week, he’d be off somewhere alone, either not feeling much of anything at all or practically drowning in a puddle of his own tears.  
  
“Sensei, can you pass me the thermometer?” Donatello asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.  
  
Splinter did so, picking the said instrument out from all the various packaging scattered on the table and handing it to his genius son.  
  
Donatello lowered the thermometer into the water and pressed it to the tank’s glass.  
  
When it stuck, he examined all the tank’s equipment, making sure everything was plugged in, turned on, and running smoothly. “Alright. That’ll do it.”  
  
The air of the room changed so much in that moment they all may as well have breathed a collective sigh of relief.  
  
Mondo turned towards the door again, and again saw no one there.  
  
When he turned back, April was looking at him and following his gaze. She tilted her head back with a silent “oooooh” on her lips.  
  
“We came back once we got all of Leo’s essentials,” she said. “We left without getting anything else. I’m gonna run to the corner store to pick up some stuff for lunch. I’m sure any stuff we have here is… less than fresh.” Her nose crinkled at the thought. “Do you wanna come with?”  
  
“Me?” Mondo asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Won’t they mind that I’m…” he gestured to himself.  
  
April waved a hand. “Nah. The guys have met Bernie before. It should be fine.”  
  
“Well, if you say so, I’m in.”  
  
Casey threw an arm around April’s shoulder and jabbed a thumb at himself. “Count Casey Jones in, too, Red!”  
  
Donnie glanced at them from where he sat beside Leo’s tank with a kicked-puppy frown.  
  
“You can come too, you know, Donnie?” April said.  
  
Donatello shook his head. “I just plugged Leo’s heater in. I have to monitor the temperature until it gets high enough and levels out, just to make sure.”  
  
“Well then you’ll have to come another time,” April said.  
  
Donnie propped his elbows on the table. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”  
  
April waved at him and turned to go.  
  
She, Mondo, and Casey went outside and to the Party Wagon.  
  
Casey clicked his tongue, stopping outside the driver’s side door and running a finger along the broken window. “Aw, nuts. That missile really did a number on the window.”  
  
“Careful,” April said, getting into the passenger side. “Don’t cut yourself.”  
  
“Casey Jones ain’t afraid of a little glass- ow!”  
  
April sighed and shook her head.  
  
Casey got into the driver’s seat and inspected his finger, which now had a very small cut on it, before buckling up and starting the engine. “How’s your hand doing, Red?”  
  
April looked at the blister on her wrist. “It’s doing better than it was. Dad had me run it under some cold water as soon as we got here.”  
  
Casey glanced back to make sure Mondo was there, then pulled onto the long driveway.  
  
The stones crackled under the tires and the van lurched side to side, then Casey turned onto the street and the path smoothed out.  
  
Mondo looked out the window.  
  
“Still looking for Raph?” April asked.  
  
Mondo glanced at her for a second before returning to his window. “Yeah.” He did a double take. “Wait. Who told you…?”  
  
“Hey, don’t take it personally,” April said. “Raph’s a little worked up now, and he’s bound to take it out wherever he can.”  
  
Mondo gripped his armrests. “So this is what the whole trip’s about.”  
  
April faced the windshield, but he could still tell from the bob of her ponytail that she was nodding. “Mostly.” She turned to face him. “But it is partially about lunch, too. Unless you want a PB&J with year-old bread.”  
  
Mondo grinned. “I bet Mikey would eat it.” He stiffened a moment later, realizing what he’d just said.  
  
April didn’t seem mad, though. She just smiled, a little melancholy. “Yeah, he would.”  
  
Mondo shifted in his seat and ducked his head. “I’m sorry. It’s because of my stupid mouth like that that Raphael left.”  
  
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Casey said. “It’s how Raph deals with things. He would have left for a while sooner or later, and it’s probably good he did it sooner. He always comes back. Take it from someone he’s stormed out on like, eighty times.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “And I’ve said dumber things. You were just trying to move on and make the most of the situation. Raph… tends not to move on.”  
  
Mondo hummed. He let quiet drift over the three of them as he tried to let their words comfort him.  
  
The road rumbled under the tires. Wind from the broken window blew fresh countryside air over his face. He licked his eyes to keep them from drying.  
  
“Are there gonna be any more customers at this store?” Mondo asked. “You said the owner’s good, but…”  
  
“Doubtful,” April said. “He intentionally bought a store in the middle of nowhere because he thought no one would come.  
  
Mondo Gecko tilted his head. “Why would he buy a store where he thought no one would come?”  
  
“Oh, Mikey hasn’t told you this story?”  
  
Mondo shook his head.  
  
April shifted to face him. “So basically, he trapped a whole bunch of beavers in the dream dimension using a book so that they couldn’t escape into reality using other people’s dreams as a portal, but it would only work if no one was sleeping nearby, so he decided to isolate himself to keep the beavers in the dream dimension.”  
  
If Mondo Gecko had eyebrows, they would have been so tightly furrowed right now they looked like one big, fuzzy caterpillar. “Are you pulling my leg?”  
  
April laughed. “Unfortunately, no.”  
  
“So how do you tell if you’re under the dream beavers’ control?” Mondo asked.  
  
“The guys mentioned seeing dreamlike qualities in their realities when they were asleep, like things that just didn’t add up or seemed supernatural.” She waved a hand. “You shouldn’t have to worry about them coming back.”  
  
“I don’t know, Sweetheart,” Mondo Gecko said, “Things have a pretty dreamlike quality so long as you’re around.” He clicked his tongue, and would have winked if he had eyelids.  
  
Casey shot him a look through the rearview mirror.  
  
April giggled, but it wasn’t a butterflies-in-the-stomach thing, more like she’d just been complimented by a puppy.  
  
Which was fine, Mondo Gecko thought. Even if she didn’t see him as a potential romantic interest, she was still nice to him, despite the fact he was a mutant.  
Which was more than he could say for his parents.  
  
The Party Wagon pulled up to the little convenience store and the engine promptly stopped, and the three got out.  
  
Casey held the door open for April, the door ringing a bell as it opened, then went inside himself.  
  
Mondo caught the door as it was closing and slipped inside.  
  
The cool air hit him with a wave of memories.  
  
It had been so long since he’d been in a store. He had forgotten what it felt like.  
  
He’d forgotten the air-conditioned feel and smell about the place, kept cool to help preserve the items on the open refrigerated shelf’s display. He’d forgotten how everything was illuminated in bright white lights so the customer could clearly see every product, how the tiled floors switched direction with every tile and made patterns on the floor with which way they turned. He’d forgotten the smell of fast food wafting through the air, whether it be soft pretzels or hot dogs on the little rotating grill they were displayed on. He’d forgotten the humming of the coffee and slushy machines, the sound of old pop songs playing on the overhead radio.  
  
Mondo walked the aises slowly, taking it all in.  
  
He’d shrunk a few inches when he was mutated, and now, walking through the store at the same eye level he’d been as a child, it brought back so many memories.  
  
He found the candy aisle and remembered dragging his mom over to one in one of the corner stores in New York City, begging her to buy him whichever brightly wrapped candy caught his eye that shopping trip.  
  
Sometimes, she amused him.  
  
He remembered grabbing a newspaper from the front once when he was with his dad, and trying to read it like the grown-ups did, only to be tripped up when he came across their big words and complex phrases.  
  
His dad had laughed and asked the cashier if they had any newspapers with kiddie pages, then had taken him back to the apartment and taught him how to play sudoku.  
  
Mondo walked slowly through the aisles, taking it all in.  
  
There was the junk food brand his dad always had in the cabinet, but he had never developed a taste for. He could still remember its taste, though, from one time his dad had shared that particular flavor with him. The taste would forever be burned into his tongue. It had only taken one time, yet he could remember it so clearly.  
  
He didn’t want to remember, for reasons more than its foul flavor.  
  
Seeing batteries near the front desk, he remembered his mom taking him into a store once while his dad was at work, and asking for specific batteries for their radio so they could listen to music.  
  
Jason approached the counter. He remembered being so bored the last time he’d been in a checkout lane, his father having taken him along to fetch some ingredients for dinner. Approaching the counter now stirred up these feelings from memory, as if he were supposed to still be programmed to sense them like here were any regular human being, but there was something new there, too.  
  
April and Casey walked behind him, having finished their brief search through the small store’s contents.  
  
When the guy behind the counter approached the cash register, Mondo found himself backing up between his human companions.  
  
“Hey!” Bernie said to April and Casey. “Long time no see!” His eyes drifted to Mondo.  
  
Mondo shrunk as much as he could.  
  
When he’d met April and Casey, he’d had the benefit of knowing they were already accustomed to interacting with mutants.  
  
Every other human he’d come across, he hadn’t had that reassurance, and often to disastrous results, right back up to the first time he’d come home as a mutant－or tried to, at least.  
  
When Bernie’s eyebrows shot up, he wished he could disappear into thin air.  
  
“Oh,” Bernie said simply. He reached over the counter.  
  
Mondo stepped back, glaring at his hand like it was a deadly poison.  
  
“I don’t believe I met you before. Name’s Bernie.”  
  
Mondo traced Bernie’s arm back up to his face and, seeing no ill intent in his expression, slowly reached for his hand and gave it a quick shake.  
  
When Bernie pulled back and started scanning the groceries, there wasn’t a hint of distress about him.  
  
Contrarily, Mondo stared at his own hand as if it would burst into flames.  
  
“What brings you all out here?” Bernie asked, scanning a loaf of bread. “Vacation?”  
  
“Uh… not quite,” April said. “It’s… a long story.”  
  
“Unbelievable story?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Bernie hummed. “I wouldn’t put it past you all, considering what you got into last time you were here.” He stopped scanning items for a moment, holding a box of crackers and smiling sheepishly. “Of course, that was mostly my fault.”  
  
Casey waved nonchalantly. “We deal with crazier on a weekly basis. You know, aliens, robots, ninjas, metal stuff like that.”  
  
Bernie arched a brow but didn’t say anything. He scanned a block of cheese and slid it into the bag he was packing for them. “Alright. You’re all set!”  
  
“Thank you,” April said, taking the bag.  
  
Casey paid for their groceries, then the trio started to leave.  
  
“Come again soon!”  
  
As the humans loaded the groceries, Mondo stared back in through the store window.  
  
“Wow,” he said, “That was wild.”  
  
Casey slammed the Party Wagon’s rear door. “If you think a convenience store is wild, then you need more excitement in your life.”  
  
“No, it’s just… I met the shopkeeper, and…” And what? The store owner didn’t try to attack him? He didn’t try to kill him upon sight? He didn’t scream and cry and call Mondo an abomination?  
  
Casey got into the driver’s seat, April, the passenger’s. Mondo opened the side door and clambered in.  
  
Mondo put his seat belt on and shrugged. “I met him normally.” He sat back as the Party Wagon started. “I didn’t think I would ever be able to do that again.”  
  
***  
  
Leo’s tank had evened out at a good temperature a little while ago, so Donnie asked Splinter to keep watch over him while worked on his current project.  
  
Donatello walked towards the barn, where he knew his makeshift lab would still be waiting for him.  
  
When he entered, he caught the familiar smell of sweet hay. The barn was still dusty, visible specs floating through the air where the sunlight caught them from the window or door.  
  
Off to the side, Donnie saw Rockwell sitting on a hay bale, working on a laptop.  
  
Donatello approached him, then stopped a considerable distance away as to not crowd him. “What are you working on?”  
  
“I’m looking through the chemicals I compiled a list of when I was searching for the weapons’ location. The fog’s components may lead us to a way to protect ourselves from it.”  
  
“I can help you,” Donnie said, moving to see the computer screen.  
  
Rockwell held his hands up. “No!”  
  
Donnie stopped and raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I mean, you should be focusing on what your brother needs. Leo, that is.”  
  
“I’ve already checked on him. He has everything he needs.”  
  
“Well, I still do not require an assistant.”  
  
Donatello stiffened. “Oh.” He rocked on his feet. “Well I guess I’ll get to my own experiments, then.”  
  
“Yes,” Rockwell said, “Please do.”  
  
Donatello shot Rockwell a wounded expression, then crossed the barn to where his desk had been last invasion.  
  
Last invasion. Donatello didn’t like how he thought of the event, as casually as if he were saying, “last Tuesday”.  
  
Yet, here it was, a recurring thing, and it seemed to get scarier every time.  
  
Donnie spotted the corked vials on his desk－Spinter must have put them there for him－ and went about pouring them into the various different beakers and trays he’d had them in before the invasion.  
  
The most recent invasion, that was.  
  
He poured one test tube into another, creating an orange color that resembled all too much the substance that had put Leo in the state he was in now.  
  
The substance Donnie had created.  
  
Donatello focused on his chemistry. He tried to drown the other thoughts out in numbers and calculations, but his busy mind found a way of bringing them back up.  
  
Especially now, surrounded by the same setting he’d been in for three whole months waiting for Leo to wake up, Donnie couldn’t shake the thoughts bubbling to the surface.  
  
For three months he had worked, desperately trying to make a medicine for his unconscious brother. His brother with whom his last interaction was an argument. For three whole months, he wondered if his brother would die with his last impression of Donatello being the genius turtle doubting him.  
  
And for what, so they could use the turtle mech?  
  
Donatello had had faith in his machine, that it would allow them to save the city from the Kraang invasion. But Donnie spent the next three months wondering if his insistence to use the mech had, deep down, been out of some ulterior motive－pride, perhaps. Self-absorbance. Maybe it had been a chance to show off his skill to the world.  
  
Leonardo hadn’t had the same faith in Donnie’s creation as Donatello had. And Leo was right.  
  
Donnie caused them to be separated in the middle of the Kraang invasion because of an argument. Leo would then walk into the Shredder’s trap, all alone. Because of Donnie.  
  
And even after they were separated, Donnie still insisted on taking the mech. The remainder of the team trusted him and tried to fight the Kraang in the mech.  
  
Leo was right. The mech didn’t work.  
  
And like Mikey and Slash now, they’d been forced to leave Splinter in the city.  
  
Leonardo had always been cautious of Donnie’s inventions. He’d doubted Metalhead, even to the point of suggesting Donatello’s own creation could be working as a Kraang soldier.  
  
Which wasn’t an unfair point, considering a Kraang had once hijacked Metalhead’s controls.  
  
Donatello measured out the amount he wanted, and poured the beaker into his main solution. He picked up the solution and gently swirled it, blending the chemicals together with the motion of his wrist.  
  
The only person who never seemed to doubt Donatello’s intellectual pursuits was Mikey.  
  
But then again, Donnie thought, Mikey would believe in anyone and anything. What did his support mean?  
  
Donatello held his head in his hands, cursing himself for thinking such about his missing brother.  
  
But Mikey had been wrong. Wrong to have faith in him. Donnie failed.  
  
Leo had been right to doubt him.  
  
Leo had been right to question his inventions. Twice now, Leo was a victim of Donnie having too much confidence in his work, or in even making the blasted things in the first place. If not for Donnie’s retromutagen, Leo wouldn’t be where he was now, trapped in that stupid cage like some helpless housepet.  
  
No wonder Rockwell didn’t want to work with him. No doubt the psychic could see right past his intellect into the sorry excuse of a person that lay under it.  
  
As if to prove his point, Rockwell stood and left the barn.  
  
At least someone still had common sense like Leo’s not to be around Donnie and his dangerous projects, the purple-clad turtle thought.  
  
And yet, there he was, still working on his chemistry project, once again trying to clean up the mess he’d made.  
  
Hopefully he could do so without messing anyone else’s lives up.  
  
He looked at the vials and beakers he held like they were filled and covered with blood. They might as well have been. Here he was, thinking he could fix the problem with the exact same thing he’d screwed everything up with.  
  
As if his concoctions hadn’t hurt Leo enough already.  
  
All because of what Donnie thought he could do.  
  
If only Leo were there to tell him otherwise.  
  
“Leo…” Donnie buried his face in his hands. “You always doubted me. Why…?” He buried his face in his hands. “Why did I never stop to realize you were right?”  
  
***  
  
Raphael walked into the clearing where the farmhouse stood. He stepped off the path he’d been following through the forest and approached the house.  
He suspected anyone looking out the windows would be able to see him now that he was out of the forest, so he hurriedly wiped his cheeks dry. He hoped everyone would be wary enough of him from his outburst not to get close enough to see his reddened eyes. If anyone asked, he could say it was because of a lack of sleep.  
  
Raphael had spent enough time in the forest that his pulse had returned to normal, his vision had cleared, and he no longer heard his heart pounding inside his head. He still noticed a lump in his throat and knot in his chest, but he could deal with being around other people with those sensations. He’d done that plenty.  
  
Raph reached for the doorknob, only to hear his heart echoing in his head again. His hand clenched by his side.  
  
Splinter would be in there.  
  
Raph turned and elected instead to go to the barn.  
  
The barn door hung ajar, so Raph grabbed it and peeked around it into the room.  
  
The barn looked just about the same as Raphael remembered it, Donnie’s makeshift lab set up on a table in the back under the hayloft. The genius turtle sat there and worked away at his station.  
  
Raphael glanced at the forest path he’d just come from. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back and stay away a little while longer.  
  
He gazed back at his purple-clad brother and decided against it.  
  
He was smart enough to know Donatello hadn’t slept the night Leo got unmutated, and he wouldn’t have been able to on the way to the farmhouse, which meant Donatello had gone over sixty hours without sleeping, the time being long past midday at the moment.  
  
And judging from Donnie’s focused work right now, he wasn’t planning on quitting anytime soon.  
  
When Raphael had yelled at them for not doing more to help Mikey and Slash, he hadn’t meant Donnie. Donnie always did whatever he could to help anyone who needed it, even at the cost of his own well-being. If Donatello had abandoned their fellow turtles at the city, it had been because he truly didn’t see a way around it.  
  
Raph could only hope he hadn’t caused Donatello to sacrifice more of his well-being than the purple-clad turtle already would.  
  
Donatello needed rest.  
  
Raphael would tell him such. He walked towards Donnie’s desk.  
  
Donatello would not respond kindly to being told what to do after the two had just been in an argument, so Raphael mentally fished for a conversation starter to bring the air back towards normal before he tried to tell the genius to get some rest. The entire thing sounded uncomfortable to Raph, but while there were problems to be solved, Donnie wouldn’t get any sleep unless he was told.  
  
Not that Raph had been sleeping a decent amount, either.  
  
His eyes landed on the chemicals his brother worked with, and Raph remembered Donnie had never really explained what he was working on, so much as deflect from the conversation. That could be something to talk about.  
  
Donatello looked up when he heard Raphael approach. He put the vials down. “Raph.”  
  
“Hey.” Raph stopped beside Donnie’s desk and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh…”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Raph started. “Huh?”  
  
Donnie picked a pencil off his desk and twirled it in his fingers. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to lash out at you. We’re all really stressed about what happened yesterday, and I just made things worse by yelling.”  
  
Raph processed his apology, then gave an awkward nod and let his hand fall from his neck. So far so good.  
  
If he could keep things from getting tense again.  
  
Silence formed and grew as the two stared at each other.  
  
Raph remembered his backup plan and indicated the chemicals. “What are you working on?”  
  
Donnie jumped. “Uhh, same thing as last time.” He grabbed a test tube, as if to hide the contents in his hand even though Raph had seen it the second before, and continued working. “Just some basic chemistry stuff.” He poured the tube into the main beaker and watched as the chemical reaction changed the solution’s color.”  
  
Raph furrowed his brow. “Yeah, but what exactly are you－” He trailed off, noticing the solution’s new color. “Huh. That looks about the same color as retromutagen.”  
  
He would have left it there, had Donnie’s eyes not grown wide, and had he not repeatedly glanced from the concoction to Raphael.  
  
Raph looked at the beaker. “It _is_ retromutagen?”  
  
Something about the liquid in that beaker made his heart start pounding in his ears again. He wanted to punch the retromutagen－ a horrible idea, by all accounts, but that was what some part of his brain was telling him to do.  
  
Raph’s brow creased. “Why didn’t you just tell me that the first time? And that are you gonna do with it, anyway?”  
  
Donnie held his palms up, looking at the retromutagen-in-progress, then at Raph. He sighed and averted his eyes. “It’s… It’s for Leo.”  
  
Raph raised a brow. “Uhhhhh, genius, that stuff’s done all it can do to him. It’s not gonna work on a regular turtle.”  
  
Donnie closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean… I mean it’s for Splinter.”  
  
Raph clenched his fists. “You know, if you’re gonna lie to me, at least give me enough credit to make up a story that makes sense the first time!”  
  
Donatello waved his arms over each other in a _wait a minute gesture_. “I am telling the truth! I wanted to give the retromutagen to Splinter so that…!” He dragged his hand down his face, letting out a long, tired sigh. “The main reason someone wouldn’t mutate with Splinter’s DNA the same as they would have fifteen years ago is because, obviously, he’s a rat now. So I thought, in theory－”  
  
“If you unmutated Splinter and mutated Leo with his human DNA,” Raph said, catching on, “He’ll go back to how he was!” Raphael grinned. “Donnie! That’s amazing!”  
  
Donatello didn’t meet his praise with the enthusiasm Raph expected, instead averting his eyes again with a frown tugging on his lips.  
  
“Donnie?” Raph’s grin slipped. “What’s－”  
  
“The reason I didn’t tell you.”  
  
Just like that, Raph fell from the high skies of expectation into a deep pit of dread. If this day planned to take him on any more of a rollercoaster, he might just lie down on the ground and curl up into a ball.  
  
“In theory, this plan should work,” Donnie began, “But there’s also a million reasons it shouldn’t, starting with we don’t know if it was Splinter’s DNA we were mutated with. We could have been mutated with the last people who took us out of the pet store cage, or with the employees there. The only way Leo would have had Splinter’s DNA to begin with, would be if Splinter had been the last person to touch him before the mutagen struck, which we can’t be sure of, especially considering turtles generally aren’t petting animals.  
  
“Also, we don’t know how mutagen really works. I can’t say if the mutagen would pick the same alleles of the DNA to mutate Leo with if we were to redo his mutation. The selection could be liable to repeat the same pattern, or it could be random.  
  
“Even if he does end up the same physically, his brain would have shrunk and grown again, which is an unprecedented transformation. Theoretically speaking, there’s not enough room in his brain right now to compensate for all the functions his previous brain was in charge of. If that information is lost with his second transformation…” He trailed off. “There’s no studies on how that might work, or… what memories he might retain. Or rather, might _not_ retain.”  
  
Raph let out a short breath through his dropped jaw.  
  
“I didn’t want to tell you because…” Donatello held his hands out in front of him, like he was trying to gesture along with what he was saying, but body language didn’t carry the weight of the words he wanted to convey. He shook his head. “Leo’s chances of going back to normal are… infinitesimal.”  
  
“So… if this doesn’t work?”  
  
Donnie shrugged. “It’s my only plan.” He tapped his desk. “If this doesn’t work, then there’s nothing I can do for him.” He met Raph’s gaze. “And statistically speaking, even from the very little data I have? Don’t get your hopes up.”  
  
Donatello may as well have crushed him into bits right then and there. Coming from another scientist, it wouldn’t have hurt so bad; he could have just asked Donnie to take a look at it. Donnie _always_ figured something out.  
  
But this, telling him his big brother was almost certainly gone, was the Donnie who always figured something out. The Donnie who always kept looking for a solution no matter how long it took. The Donnie who stayed up until the odd hours of the morning because he’d made a promise he couldn’t keep and was determined to see it through.  
  
That Donnie was telling him that Leo was good as gone.  
  
Raph tried to swallow with a dry mouth. That lump in his throat was still hanging around. “How long until the retromutagen is finished?”  
  
Donatello glanced around his worktable. “Fortunately, I’d already been several months into making this batch by the time the last one got… used up. It should be done in a week or two, maybe even a few days, but I wouldn’t count on it. Something always goes wrong and I have to make up for lost time.” His eyes hovered on the beaker of incomplete retromutagen. “But until then? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.” He placed his hand on the beaker. “There’s no sense in giving anyone false hope.”  
  
Raph nodded.  
  
He and Donnie stared at the worktable, each lost in their own thoughts.  
  
“Well,” Donatello said, sitting down, “I may as well be working.”  
  
Raph nodded, then turned to leave. Donnie needed all his focus to stay on track, tired as he must be by now.  
  
Raphael stopped and turned to address his brother. “Oh, and Donnie?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Get some rest.”  
  
Donatello waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Soon as I’m done with this part of it.”  
  
Raphael nodded and left him to make his cure for Leo.  
  
Or what would hopefully be the cure.  
  
Raph didn’t want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just to let y'all know, I'm planning on changing my posting days to Fridays.  
> Enjoy!

When Slash opened his eyes next, he had to take a moment to figure out where he was, and why everything hurt.  
  
His first instinct, when he realized he wasn’t at the Mutanimals’ hideout, was to push himself to sit upright.  
  
That proved a mistake, one that cost him immense pain coursing through both his arms－ searing hot pain in the right, and straining, biting pain in the left.  
  
He hissed and tucked his arms close to his half-eaten plastron, or at least as close as his right arm would go.  
  
Right. He’d managed to temporarily lose the use of both his arms. At least he really hoped it was temporary.  
  
After making a mental note to keep his upper body still, Slash took a good look at the room around him.  
  
The room was small, a single-person apartment that had seen better days, but it would serve as shelter all the same. Dust and cobwebs littering the place said the apartment had not had a tenant in some time, but the sound of people moving below them told him the same couldn’t be said for the entire complex.  
  
They would have to be careful.  
  
A large window took up the entire back wall, but if he went to the window and looked down, he would be able to see that no one would look in at them from there, the apartment being many stories in the air.  
  
Squares of faded paint marked where pictures had once hung, but the place had since been stripped of all decoration.  
  
They couldn’t risk turning on the lights for fear of being discovered, so only the TV was on, turned to the news and set on almost inaudible volume.  
  
In front of the TV, on a couch covered in a sheet to protect it from the light and dust, Michelangelo slept with one arm dangling off the edge.  
  
The young turtle was speckled with cuts and bruises, but otherwise had no major injury.  
  
Which was more than Slash could say for himself, he thought as he glared at his useless limbs.  
  
 **The** one that had been eaten away had mostly scabbed, but a gooey yellowish substance had started to form around the _**outside.**_ Slash didn’t take this as a good sign, but Michelangelo had already used all of his ointment on Slash, and the apartment’s bathroom was bare of anything helpful.  
  
The other one was worse.  
  
Even if it wasn’t an open wound, it was ugly and discolored and downright uncomfortable to look at. The joint would have to be reset.  
  
Slash glanced at Michelangelo to make sure the young turtle was still sleeping.  
  
Mikey was, although the sun was setting over the horizon and casting bright rays into the apartment, signaling that it had been almost a full day since they’d found the apartment and gone to sleep.  
  
Slash supposed Michelangelo was tired after fighting for so long and gaining various wounds.  
  
Slash certainly was.  
  
And yet he had woken up earlier.  
  
Slash dismissed the matter and focused on his arm.  
  
He grabbed the dislocated arm’s wrist in his opposite hand and held his breath.  
  
Be strong, he told himself, and no matter what, he must not alert the neighbors to his presence.  
  
Slash pulled his wrist.  
  
 **The** same sickening pop jarred his body, and he flopped against the couch’s armrest as white dots danced over his vision. The floor tilted, threatening to tip him over.  
  
For a second, he was convinced he’d just dislocated it at a different angle, until he brought himself to look at it through all the dots.  
  
It looked better. It was no longer horribly deformed as it had been, although still very _**swollen.**_  
  
Slash felt worse. The sudden feverish feeling had returned again. His elbow reminded him with every heartbeat how sore it was.  
  
He took some shaky breaths to steady himself and slid down the couch’s side until he was flat on the floor again. He breathed steadier, slower, in, out, in out.  
  
Eventually, he allowed sleep to come again to distract him through the worst of the pain.  
  
When he awoke again, Michelangelo was awake, too, blinking blearily on the couch. He must have just gotten up, because his eyes were very red.  
  
“‘Mornin’,” He slurred, though one glance through the window could tell Slash it was the middle of the night.  
  
“How are you?” Slash asked.  
  
“‘M’tired,” Michelangelo said, despite having slept for who knows how long now, “and hungry.”  
  
The latter was more understandable.  
  
Mikey’s eyes settled on the news. “Whazzat?”  
  
Slash turned around.  
  
“Reports have been coming from all over the city, saying various loved ones have spontaneously gone missing,” the reporter said. “Police and scientists alike are baffled. There has never been such a sudden spike in suspected kidnapping cases on record. People are going missing left and right, and there is no known common link between those who have gone missing. People are beginning to speculate that this is connected to the strange fog all over town, which has been analyzed and deemed chemically harmless. Some theorize that the fog was intentionally dispersed to cover up these suspected kidnappings.”  
  
“The Kraang?” Slash wondered.  
  
“It doesn’t really seem their style,” Mikey said. “They’re usually all, ‘zap, zap, pew pew, rawr! Imma mutate all you lowly humans!”  
  
“Yeah, they’re usually a lot louder about their plans,” Slash agreed. “But if not them, then who?”  
  
Mikey gave an unhelpful shrug.  
  
Slash sighed and shook his head.  
  
Michelangelo started at the nonverbal response like he’d been struck.  
  
Slash raised a brow at him. It wasn’t as if Slash had responded to his lack of help with anything violent or even remotely extreme. An agitated sigh could hardly be considered harsh.  
  
Slash glanced around the room for something else that could have caused the small turtle’s reaction, but came up with nothing. His eyes settled on Michelangelo again, and the orange-clad turtle averted his gaze upon Slash’s scrutiny.  
  
Michelangelo’s stomach rumbled, and he lowered his hand to his belly. He glanced sidelong at Slash. “Up to pizza?”  
  
“From where?”  
  
“Antonio’s, of course.”  
  
Slash pursed his lips. Had Michelangelo completely forgotten the talk of an unknown enemy kidnapping people left and right? Not to mention the fog down below.  
  
Slash jumped. He had completely forgotten about the fog. He hadn’t been keeping track of where it was; for all they knew, it could be right below them, waiting to swallow them in only a few minutes.  
  
Slash stood and speed walked to the window, trying to ignore the room’s spin. He pressed his forehead to the glass and looked down alongside the base of the apartment.  
  
It was hard to tell for sure from this height, trying to gauge a semitransparent substance, but judging from the height of the streetlamps down below, the gas had settled to waist depth. Most likely, it had dispersed enough outward that it was no longer being pushed up, and would continue to sink until they could walk the streets again.  
  
At least they had that going for them.  
  
Slash considered Michelangelo’s proposition. On one hand, it was a risky move. The Kraang, the gas, and the unknown enemy lurked out there, and they had no means of help should they run into trouble.  
  
Slash subconsciously ran a hand over his weakened plastron. Just one well-aimed blow. That was all it would take to do him in.  
  
On the other hand, they needed food. Long-abandoned apartments didn’t come with much of a selection, unless Slash considered spiders and dust bunnies sustenance. Which he did not.  
  
As uneasy as the prospect of going out there without the reliable armor of a healthy shell made him, Slash was hungry, too. He’d just been through a long battle, and hadn’t eaten in about a day and a half. They needed to heal. They needed food.  
  
Slash growled. He wasn’t about to sit around and waste away while their enemies progressed right under their noses.  
  
He wasn’t about to keep himself on the sideline.  
  
“Alright, I’m in.” He looked at Mikey. “Call ahead, but don’t give them this address. We’ll go someplace nearby to pick it up.”  
  
Michelangelo patted his belt, and shrugged. “Uh…” He shrunk half into his shell, ready to hide away from everyone.  
  
“Right.”  
  
Mikey spotted a landline phone hanging on the wall. “Oh!” He approached it.  
  
“Wait. Too risky.”  
  
“Then what do we do?”  
  
“We’ll find a payphone somewhere.”  
  
“Aren’t they all covered in clouds?”  
  
“I just checked out the window,” Slash said. “They’re low enough the phones will be uncovered.”  
  
Michelangelo stretched. “Alright then. I’ll swing by and get it. You stay here and chill out. Relax. What kind of toppings do you like?”  
  
“I’m not staying here!”  
  
Slash caught it when Michelangelo’s arms darted to both of Slash’s arms, then met his gaze again. He growled.  
  
Michelangelo shrunk into his shell again, looking up at Slash with pleading eyes like the towering turtle would strike him down. Like Slash hated every cell of his being.  
  
Which, Slash realized, wouldn’t be an unfounded assumption. He had, after all, nearly killed Michelangelo upon first being mutated.  
  
When Slash had said the mutagen warped his brain, he hadn’t been lying, but perhaps not in the way others expected.  
  
The mutagen had given him a greater power of choice. More power to think, more power to do, more power to act. Power to finally stand up to those who had wronged him. And boy, did he have a score to settle with Michelangelo.  
  
As a normal turtle, he hadn’t had any ability to stop toddler Michelangelo from his various shenannigans－ doodling on his shell, taunting him with food just out of his reach, dressing him up like a fairy－nothing that merited what Slash had done to him in return, Slash realized too late, but it was enough for the now larger and stronger turtle to build up quite a bit of resentment.  
  
But Michelangelo was Raphael’s brother. And as much of that resentment still lingered, Slash would stick with Michelangelo now.  
  
Not because Slash needed anyone. If someone were to ask him, he’d say he could still take care of himself and fight! But because Mikey was Raphael’s brother. And although Slash often pondered what it was Raph saw in these dorks, he would not let Raph down again.  
  
But here he was, Michelangelo cowering before him.  
  
“We have to stay together,” Slash explained. “We can’t afford to split up now.”  
  
“I hate to break it to you, but uh, you’re not exactly looking so well, dude.”  
  
Slash’s fists clenched by his sides. “It’s only a pizza run. I can handle it.”  
  
Michelangelo hesitated, but nodded.  
  
Good. The little dork wasn’t going to get snatched on his watch.  
  
Slash walked to the door and put his ear against it. The hallway sounded still, so he cracked it open, double-checked, and stepped out.  
  
The hall was simple: four numbered apartment doors led out into a bicolor hallway, the one end of which led to an interior staircase and an elevator beside of it, the other end marked EXIT with a heavy door opening into the fire escape.  
  
Michelangelo dashed to the fire escape and held the door for him, then the two of them descended the escape until they were low enough to leap across the street onto the buildings on the other side of the alley.  
  
It took a few minutes of walking, but eventually Slash found a payphone embedded into the concrete on the side of a corner store, right next to a bus stop and lamppost.  
  
Slash checked the vicinity to make sure they had enough time to make a call before someone walked in on them.  
  
Thankfully, people still seemed wary of the gas covering the streets like swampwater. Very few ventured out of their houses, and those who did stayed to the main streets, making sure they were in plain view.  
  
“Coast is clear,” Slash said. He leapt onto the bus stop’s roof.  
  
Michelangelo slid halfway down the lamppost like a fire pole and reached out to grab the phone.  
  
“The phone!”  
  
Mikey raised a brow at him. “Yeah, that’s what we’re here for?”  
  
“Can you call your brothers?”  
  
Michelangelo’s eyes grew wide. He turned to the phone’s pad, and his finger hovered over the numbers.  
  
“What are you waiting for?”  
  
Mikey said nothing.  
  
“You don’t know their numbers, do you?”  
  
Mikey kept staring at the keypad. He shook his head.  
  
Slash groaned. “How could you not?”  
  
“I usually have their contacts saved!”  
  
“Did you not think this could happen? Did they not have you memorize at least one of them?”  
  
Even facing away, Slash could tell from Michelangelo’s body language that he was supposed to have memorized them. He sighed. “Just order the pizzas.”  
  
Michelangelo did exactly that, and Slash tried to ignore the tremor in his voice when he did so.  
  
The two then went back onto the roof to wait for the delivery guy.  
  
Michelangelo fished some change out of his belt and counted it. “I only have enough for this order.”  
  
“The lair will still be filled with gas,” Slash thought aloud. “It’s trapped down there, so even when it’s died down everywhere else, it’ll still linger down there.”  
  
“What about your place?” Mikey asked.  
  
Slash shook his head. “It’s too far to walk, and we don’t have a ride.”  
  
“What happened to the Stealth Bike?”  
  
“I had to leave it. ‘Sides, it’s probably totaled. A missile hit it.”  
  
Mikey smiled. “It’s not done yet, if Donnie has anything to say about it. He can fix anything.” His smile slipped, and he stared off into the distance.  
  
Slash paced the roof, although every step sent a little jolt through his no longer dislocated elbow.  
  
Michelangelo reclined against a vent on the roof, and seemed ready to fall asleep again, despite how many hours of rest he’d just woken up from.  
  
The delivery bike zoomed into view and stopped next to the bus stop some time later. The guy pulled the ordered stack of pizzas from the back of his bike, then looked around, uncertain of where to put them.  
  
Mikey folded all the dollar bills into a neat stack and deftly tossed them to rest atop the bus stop’s bench.  
  
The delivery guy saw the movement, picked up the bills and counted them, shrugged, and left the pizzas in their place. He mounted his bike and zoomed away.  
  
Mikey fetched the pizzas and went back to join Slash on the roof.  
  
Slash regretted letting Mikey choose all the toppings－ the freckled turtle proved to have the weirdest taste in combinations.  
  
All the same, the aroma drifting up from the boxes was heavenly to someone who hadn’t eaten in some time. As much as Slash wanted to stop and eat right there, this was not the time or place.  
  
“We’re too exposed out here. Let’s go back to the apartment to eat.”  
  
They left for the said building.  
  
The delivery guy zoomed past them on his route to his next delivery. His bike quickly passed their earshot and sight.  
  
He ducked into an alleyway where his next delivery was to be dropped off.  
  
He dismounted his bike, read the order, and went to pull it off the back of his bike.  
  
A pair of strong hands closed around his mouth. He tried to scream, but the hands muffled the sound.  
  
He kicked and thrashed and punched, but all efforts proved futile as he was dragged out of sight and into the shadows.  
  
***  
  
Splinter walked into the dining room to find Raphael sitting at the table, staring into the tank like Leo would suddenly drop dead if he so much as blinked.  
  
Splinter knew too much about how his sons got when someone was hurt to assume Raphael had been getting a healthy amount of food or sleep, and to ask if Donatello had been taking proper care of himself would have been downright laughable.  
  
Splinter walked up behind Raph and put a hand on his shoulder. “You need rest, my son. I will watch over Leonardo.”  
  
Raph swatted Splinter’s hand away. “M’fine.”  
  
Splinter sighed. Raphael’s tone said the matter was non-negotiable.  
  
“If you get tired, let the O’Neils or myself know to switch out with you.” Something told him Raph wouldn’t jump to that offer anytime soon, but Splinter felt it necessary to include someone other than himself as an option, especially when Raph was still mad at him.  
  
“I’m not tired.”  
  
So much for that.  
  
Splinter left Raph in peace and crossed the hall to the living room, where Mr. O’Neil had prepared a kettle of tea on the coffee table and was sipping from a cup, reclining on the couch and watching flames crackle in the fireplace.  
  
Mr. O’Neil turned when he heard Splinter enter, and gestured to the kettle.  
  
“My thanks,” Splinter said, helping himself to a cup.  
  
Mr. O’Neil nodded. He considered something, then half-whispered, “How is everyone adjusting?”  
  
His lowered voice alerted Splinter at once that he’d heard the exchange between him and Raphael. Not that the rift between them was any secret; Raph hadn’t said one remotely friendly thing to him since they’d left the city.  
  
He shook his head in reply.  
  
The front door opened, and through the living room doorway, the two could see Donatello make his way from the hallway entrance to the dining room table.  
“Hey. You should get some rest,” Donnie said.  
  
“Same thing I told you,” Raph replied.  
  
“I said I would as soon as I was done with my next task.”  
  
“Which has been going on for how many hours?”  
  
“Still one task. My point still stands.”  
  
Raph kept his voice even, yet it had a chill to it. “I’ll get some rest after you do, you hypocrite.”  
  
Donnie took a deep breath and left it at that. He turned and retraced his path to the front door.  
  
“Wait.” Splinter stood and ducked into the kitchen before returning and handing Donatello a protein bar.  
  
It was no sit-down meal, by any means, but Donnie was likely to eat it if it meant not interrupting his work to go elsewhere to eat. It was better than nothing.  
  
Splinter went back into the living room and sat down in the armchair beside the couch Mr. O’Neil had claimed.  
  
“They really aren’t doing well, are they?” Kirby murmured.  
  
Splinter, knowing Raph was trained to still be able to hear Kirby at his volume, lowered his own voice even more when he said, “No. I fear they may become ill if they continue on this path.”  
  
Kirby mimicked his volume. “What are you going to do?”  
  
“I do not know. When my sons are disheartened, they are stubbornly so.”  
  
Mr. O’Neil gave a humorless chuckle. “I know a thing or two about raising a stubborn child.”  
  
“I do not doubt that.” Splinter clutched his teacup tighter. “Yes, my sons have become quite despondent. They neglect their own needs as if to suffer with those they cannot help.” He raised the teacup to his mouth. “But in doing so, they lessen their own chances to be able to do anything should the opportunity arise.” He sipped the tea, then lowered the cup and tapped its side, his nail making little clicking sounds as it came into contact with the ceramic. “With them being so forlorn, I… question whether I made the right choice.”  
  
Kirby pursed his lips. “You think you should have let them fight?”  
  
“I… I am not sure.”  
  
Mr. O’Neil stood. “Would you like to go for a walk? I’ve been cooped up in this house all day.”  
  
Kirby’s question took Splinter off-guard, but some fresh air sounded like a good idea.  
  
He stood in response, and Kirby set his tea aside and followed.  
  
They walked out the door and towards the edge of the property.  
  
Mr. O’Neil walked the edge line of the land, Splinter accompanying him.  
  
It was nice enough, being bordered on one side by a forest and having all the branches hanging above. It still provided the fresh forest smell and woodsy feel.  
  
Kirby considered the house from afar. “You know, my wife and April and I used to come here every year. It was a lot of fun, just the three of us; I have a lot of fond memories from this place.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful.”  
  
“It was.” He smiled, a distant look in his eye. “I could show you where the best picnic spots were, or where April would bring us to play monkey in the middle－she’d always make me start out as the monkey.” His smile faded. “I’m not sure if I could show you that now without getting sentimental, but I still remember exactly where those places are.”  
  
“I believe you.”  
  
“April was so happy playing with the two of us.” Kirby’s expression grew dark. “But then the Kraang attacked and tried to take April away. I scooped her up and fled, but I had to leave my love behind to save our daughter.” He collected himself. “April was in shambles for the weeks to follow. She’d always wait by the window every day my love was supposed to get home from work, and-” his voice broke and he trailed off. “She’d always ask when Mommy was coming home. When I saw the look on her face, I questioned for weeks whether I’d made the right choice.”  
  
“But you saved your daughter. That is what your wife would have wanted.” The irony of Splinter saying so was not lost on him.  
  
“That is what she wanted,” Kirby confirmed. “She told me so in the few seconds we had to plan an escape. Yet I couldn’t help blaming myself for not saving her, too. But she would have been furious, if I had put April on the line. I should be grateful just to have my sweet baby girl alive and well.”  
  
Quiet fell between them. Kirby kicked a rock lying on the ground and watched it roll over the grass.  
  
“Guilt is a horrible thing. I’ve spent so many years consumed by something that I didn’t do. It happened to me. And that’s the thing, realizing you’ve done nothing wrong when something happens to you－when someone else is the one who intended harm all along. Why is it so hard to tell yourself you meant well?” He pursed his lips. “But I chose what would keep April safe. It wouldn’t have been wrong in my love’s eyes, just in mine. Don’t let your conscience lie to you.”  
  
Splinter hummed.  
  
Kirby glanced sidelong at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude on your-”  
  
“No, no. It is quite alright. You have some interesting points. It is just that I…” he chuckled. “It has been a while since I’ve been on the receiving end of one of these talks.”  
  
Mr. O’Neil snorted. “Well, I hope it’s been of some use; April’s so grown up now, it’s been a while since I’ve had to give one.”  
  
“I believe it has. Thank you.”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
They had made a lap around the clearing at this point, and returned inside.  
  
The music that floated from the living room told them someone was watching a horror film, and out of the corners of their eyes, they saw Casey lounging in the armchair as they passed.  
  
Mr. O’Neil made his way upstairs, and Splinter glanced into the dining room in (low) hopes that Raphael had changed places with someone.  
  
Instead, he found his second eldest son slumped in the chair, chin fallen to his chest and snoring softly.  
  
Splinter’s heart ached. He wondered if Raph’s brothers had often found him like this the first time he’d spent days watching over Leo’s helpless form.  
  
Raph would wake soon if left be. His neck would soon stiffen and ache under his drooping head, and he wouldn’t be able to rest long with that discomfort.  
  
Splinter knew Raph would be furious with him if he tried to take care of him, and could possibly distance them more.  
  
He also knew that Raph wouldn’t be keen on falling asleep again any time soon while Leo was still in this fragile state.  
  
Parental instincts won out, and Splinter carefully scooped Raphael up in his arms and carried him towards the living room.  
  
Splinter had a good guess of Raphael’s weight before the Kraang plot, from sparring with him in training. Carrying his son now, he realized either his guess was off, or his son had lost an alarming amount of weight for the short time they’d been there.  
  
He hoped it was the former.  
  
Carrying his child in his arms brought him back to when the turtles stood no taller than his knee, which was probably the last time he’d carried the red-clad turtle. Splinter had thought that his situation then, having to scavenge for food in the time the baby turtles were asleep, was bad.  
  
What he wouldn’t give now to spend a day with only those problems.  
  
As he neared the living room, it occurred to him that Casey would likely find his treatment of Raphael hilarious, and that as Raph’s closest companion, Casey would have no trouble teasing him for it.  
  
Splinter resigned himself to accept whatever profanity Raph threw his way after Casey taunted him.  
  
When Splinter reached the living room, however, Casey looked up and saw Raph, and his expression became sympathetic.  
  
Casey reached over to the couch and positioned a pillow against the armrest.  
  
Splinter set Raphael down with his head on the said pillow, and gently arranged his limbs into a comfortable position.  
  
Casey turned the volume down and continued watching as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  
  
Splinter gave a nod of thanks and left to take watch over Leonardo.  
  
He realized that it was close to feeding time and retrieved a meal from the refrigerator, which Donatello had pre-arranged to ensure that Leo got a balance of all his needed vitamins.  
  
Splinter walked to Leo’s tank and dropped a few chopped-up vegetables in.  
  
The little turtle left the water to snatch the meal from his basking rock.  
  
At least one of his sons was still taking care of himself.


	12. Chapter 12

**If** the intermittent spells of hot and cold that swept over him weren’t enough to tell Slash something was wrong, the yellowish tint that crept around his half-eaten arm and the not quite transparent fluid that oozed from it _**was.**_  
  
To try to find a pharmacy now would be much too risky; there was the matter of sneaking in and out without being spotted to begin with, which would be an ordeal considering his size, and besides that, they also had their enemies to worry about, as well as the fact that more cars and people were on the streets than there had been that morning.  
  
Slash looked out the window. Cars sped away from the apartment as far as he could see, but only one or two headed the opposite direction, further into the city.  
  
Slash furrowed his brow. Was there something going on on the city outskirts?  
  
He decided to check the news.  
  
Slash turned around and walked up to the couch.  
  
 _Crognard the Barbarian_ played onscreen, request of Michelangelo. Slash had warned him not to turn the volume up, but allowed the young turtle his entertainment. The youngest needed something to cheer him up; he seemed… unenthusiastic.  
  
Michelangelo had gone right to laying on the couch and watching TV after eating pizza, and judging from his lack of recent movement, had fallen asleep again.  
  
In his time as Raphael’s pet, Michelangelo had sometimes been lazy. Even when Mikey goofed around, though, Slash had never remembered him being this quiet. Unenergetic.  
  
Slash chalked it up to concern for his brothers, and looked down at his own oozing arm.  
  
No reason to make Mikey more concerned－ or give him any more proof that Slash needed to sit out of the action.  
  
Slash considered the sheet the couch was covered in, and tore the corner off of it before wrapping it around his yellowing wound.  
  
Only when he was knotting the makeshift bandage did he remember that the cloth was made to collect the dirt and dust of the room before it got to the couch.  
  
Oh well. His wound was already pretty nasty, anyway.  
  
Slash spotted the remote under Mikey’s limp hand and slid it out. He was almost upset to change the channel; it had served as good background noise, a sense of normalcy. If anyone asked, he would have denied it, but the show was growing on him.  
  
He switched the news on.  
  
“... sudden disappearances have become even more concerning as there has been evidence of people disappearing from their own homes. Various roommates and families report coming home to find proof of a half-completed task－ a computer monitor left on, a book lying open, a meal burning in an active oven, in some reports－ with no idea how or why their loved one left. As a result of people being allegedly taken from their houses, housefires have sprung up all over the city from unattended kitchens and the like. People have started to flee from the city out of confusion and fear.”  
  
“Huh,” Michelangelo said simply.  
  
Slash jumped and scrambled to hide his arm behind his back, forgetting momentarily that it was already covered. “Michelangelo! I did not realize you were awake.” Had he seen Slash’s arm? Had he realized Slash had tried to cover it up?  
  
“Have been,” Mikey responded.  
  
“Oh.” His eyes flicked to the side for a second. “You don’t seem very energized.”  
  
Mikey huffed. “You could say that again.”  
  
Slash was tempted to leave it at that lest he invite emotional conversation, but it was becoming clear to him that Mikey wasn’t his normal self, and if Raphael really cared for the idiot so much for some strange reason, Slash would keep him happy. Or at least, Slash would keep him intact until they might－ _would_ － meet Raphael again, _when_ Slash could reunite them and hand all Michelangelo’s problems back to Raphael to deal with. Why Raph put up with dork was beyond him.  
  
Slash pushed himself to ask, “Is something wrong?”  
  
“S’fine.”  
  
Slash held back a groan. Half of him wanted to jump for joy when Michelangelo steered the conversation towards its close. The other half wouldn’t let him leave it at that.  
  
“I know it must be tough for you,” he couldn’t believe he was saying, “Being separated from your family.”  
  
Mikey’s eyes shifted away. He hugged the couch’s armrest.  
  
“So, if you needed to talk about anything…” Slash tried to make his teeth unclench as to not sound insincere. “I’m all ears.”  
  
Michelangelo paused, his gaze softening. “Same to you.”  
  
Slash started. “Huh?”  
  
“Listening is the least I could do for you,” Mikey said. He met Slash’s eyes. “After all, you lost your family, too.”  
  
Then Slash was the one to look away.  
  
It wasn’t that Mikey was wrong; the absence of his team distressed him. He looked for someone to help him get back on his feet despite his wounds, but Dr. Rockwell wasn’t there. He looked for another strong fighter to stand by him while he and Michelangelo chanced the dangerous city, but Leatherhead was out of reach. He looked for some lightheartedness to ease the downtime between action, but Mondo was nowhere to be found.  
  
But it was the authenticity of Michelangelo’s words that caught Slash off-guard.  
  
Slash had more bad than good to attribute to his relationship with Michelangelo. The only things Slash could name to the relationship’s credit were the times of peaceful coexistence they’d spent when Slash was not yet a mutant, and the time their two teams had fought together against the Kraang, which was nothing remarkable, considering the Hamato and Foot clans had once joined forces to battle against the Triceratons. On the other hand was the aforementioned resentment over Michelangelo’s childhood antics, and Slash going on an almost-murder spree of the turtles.  
  
How Michelangelo could extend his hand with such genuine compassion despite it all was beyond him.  
  
“I-” he stumbled over his words. “Thank you.”  
  
Perhaps an awkward response, but one he did not have to force himself to say.  
  
They settled into open-ended silence.  
  
Slash realized Michelangelo was waiting for him to speak.  
  
As intrigued as he was by Mikey’s offer, Slash wasn’t eager to give a dramatic confession of his heart’s deepest dread, so he let the silence draw on long enough to indicate the conversation’s end.  
  
***  
  
Splinter should have known Raphael wouldn’t rest for very long.  
  
Only a few hours after he’d put Raph on the couch, the red-clad turtle was up again, and walked to the dining room where Splinter was seated, watching over Leo.  
  
Splinter would have been content with the few hours of sleep Raphael had gotten, had he been missing just one day’s worth of rest. The red-clad turtle hadn’t gotten a full eight hours in four days now, and the missed hours would add up quickly.  
  
As far as that matter went, the turtles’ father didn’t even want to think about what Donatello was doing to himself.  
  
“Raphael,” Splinter said as softly as he could upon seeing his hotheaded son’s face. “You should be resting.”  
  
“While Mikey’s still out there and Leo’s like this? I don’t think so!”  
  
“You need not make your own health worse while worrying about your brothers’. I will watch over Leonardo for now; you should meditate on your own well-being.”  
  
Raph huffed. “And you’ll take just as good care of him as you did Mikey?”  
  
Splinter took a deep breath. He willed himself to keep calm. Getting mad at Raph would accomplish nothing. “There was nothing to be done for Michelangelo.”  
Raph stomped closer, glaring down at Splinter while the rat was seated and temporarily shorter. “How about actually _trying_ to save him, huh? How about not making everyone abandon him? He’s probably still waiting for us out there!”  
  
Splinter’s heart dropped. Raph spoke as if he’d never even considered Michelangelo could be dead. How much harder would it be for him, if they went back only to find the worst had occurred?  
  
“We risked losing the rest of our family and friends by staying.”  
  
Raph stopped dead still, staring him dead in the eye. “You mean we risked losing Leo by staying.”  
  
Splinter’s brow creased. But Leo was one of the only ones who hadn’t been in danger from the gas?  
  
“You were so worried the Kraang missiles would hurt him while he’s a normal turtle.”  
  
“Yes, that was a major concern,” Splinter admitted, still not following. Raphael was afraid Leo was prone to getting hurt in this fragile state, too; had Raph not proved that in his constant vigil?  
  
“Leo had people looking after him and wasn’t being targeted. Mikey had no one. He was up there, all alone and bound to be swallowed in the gas any second!” Raph jabbed a finger in Splinter’s face. “Did you think,” He seethed, gaining volume and momentum, “Did you even consider, _anywhere in your rat-brained mind that there were more pressing matters than protecting your favorite_?”  
  
Splinter expected Raphael to press on, but Raph remained frozen, finger jabbed in Splinter’s face, awaiting his response.  
  
It hadn’t been a rhetorical question, Splinter realized. Raph meant it.  
  
“Raphael…”  
  
“Well, congratulations! You protected Splinter Junior. Way to go! I hope you’re happy with the son you chose, because Donnie’s working himself to death, and Mikey might be-” He trailed off. “And as for me,” His lip curled and his face twisted up in unmitigated bitterness Splinter had only ever seen in Oroku Saki’s face before. “I am no son of yours.”  
  
Raphael shook his head. “No family of mine would abandon each other. We don’t betray each other. No turtle left behind－ that’s our rule.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “If you can’t stick to the family’s first rule, don’t expect them to stick to you. You broke it. You are nothing to me.”  
  
Splinter opened and closed his mouth. It had been years since he’d been so lost for words. All the way back when Oroku Saki had said something similar to him.  
  
“So give your sympathy to Donnie, why don’tcha?” His voice gave out. “He’s all you have left, and if no one looks out for him, even he could be-”  
  
Splinter extended a comforting hand. “Raphael…”  
  
Raph struck his hand away with force like he’d blocked a strike.  
  
Splinter’s wrist stung.  
  
“NO! Keep your filthy hands away from me! You hugged him just hours before you left him to die! I don’t want you anywhere near me! I hate you, hear me? I! Hate! You!”  
  
Splinter’s heart stung.  
  
Raph was losing momentum. True to his nature, he kept up the fight, but his words slowly lost conviction. “I can’t believe you left him! I can’t believe you left him up there to protect your favorite! I can’t believe I left-” His face twisted in agony.  
  
Splinter wanted nothing more than to comfort his hurting son. Raphael would kill him, maybe literally.  
  
But once more, his parental instincts won out, and he wrapped his arms around Raphael and drew his son in close.  
  
Raph stood stone-still, then buried his face in his father’s robe and grabbed fistfuls of the cloth for dear life, shaking with sobs Splinter knew Raph was trying so hard to keep under control and failing.  
  
He knew Raph was mentally screaming at himself at that very moment for giving in to being comforted by the very man he’d just declared his enemy. He knew Raph would blame himself for some time to come for failing to stick to his conviction. He knew providing such comfort now would come with consequences to pass.  
  
But he also knew Raph needed the comfort now.  
  
Why were the right and wrong choices always the hardest to decipher when he needed to know them the most?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really picked a poor time to start making updates on Fridays; I didn't realize that this Friday was Christmas, lol. Anyways, updates really will be on Fridays after this week's.

After his realization that Michelangelo wasn’t as plain-and-simple as he seemed on the surface, －or maybe plain-and-simple wasn’t the best term; the impression Slash first had of him was more shallow and wacky－ Slash discovered more complexities about the young turtle.  
  
The first of which he noticed, was how drained and energetic Michelangelo managed to act simultaneously, all the time. He slept long hours, and carried himself around the small apartment with nothing short of lethargy, but still had an air of restlessness about him when he was awake. He constantly had to either be fidgeting with something in his hands or bouncing his leg. Slash often saw him snacking on the leftover pizza they had, but it seemed less out of hunger and more out of the urge to be doing something.  
  
Slash could, if nothing else, relate to his distress over being inactive.  
  
The second was how calming, yet disturbing his presence was.  
  
In the middle of their predicament, it was nice to have someone there. To be alone against the world, but not entirely alone.  
  
Out there lay hundreds of Kraang, amidst who knew what else.  
  
There weren’t many things Slash could say to Michelangelo’s credit, having focused on most of his negative qualities out of resentment of being dressed up and humiliated as a pet, but not once to his memory had Michelangelo’s loyalty ever been thrown in doubt. To have an ally he knew he could trust, however helpful the said ally might be, Slash acknowledged (but would not admit) it eased the gravity of the situation.  
  
Michelangelo also made an effort to lighten the mood by turning on _Crognard the Barbarian_ and cracking jokes, but he followed many of those jokes with an uneasy smile and forced laughter, a far cry from what Slash remembered of him in his time at the lair. The ingenuine smiles and laughs were more a reminder of their trying times than Slash’s own tired-eyed face.  
  
To make matters worse, Mikey moved around stealthily, and often caught Slash off-guard. His sudden appearances coupled with forced positivity and the old, darkened apartment gave him a ghostlike aura, like Slash had already failed everyone in the city and was just lying to himself when he thought someone else was still with him.  
  
Not to mention there was the matter of what the young turtle thought Slash should and should not be doing in his condition－ he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thanks a bunch! He would judge what he could and couldn’t do in this state!  
  
The arm he’d reset into grew slowly less achy, though it remained still far too swollen and stiff to move, and he still felt a jolt pass through it with every step. Point was, it was getting better.  
  
Not that he could say that about the rest of him.  
  
His shell stayed stubbornly the same. He hadn’t noticed any difference since the day it melted away, and his vital organs remained consequently exposed.  
  
He was cold and his head ached, and chills ran throughout his body.  
  
But so long as he didn’t show it, Michelangelo wouldn’t catch on to that. His other arm was a different story. It had scabbed closed, but the yellowish tint continued to spread under and around it. Which would all be fine; Mikey knew about his injury, but hadn’t checked up on it. He could continue to keep it wrapped in the bit of cloth he’d torn from the couch.  
  
What he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep as easily hidden, was the foul stench of the fluid oozing from it. If Mikey traced the smell to his worsening wound, he’d be even more reluctant to see Slash step outside the apartment－ which, they’d need to do soon, Slash judged, lifting the lid of a pizza box that had leftover food in it at the beginning of the day. Thanks to Michelangelo’s snacking habits, they’d have to get some more food to sustain them.  
  
Not that Slash minded going out. Boredom won out over fear of what could be out there, and he was itching to get out of this cramped apartment.  
  
The bad news was, they only had enough money to order one small item.  
  
Slash shook his head and walked over to the couch, hearing the end theme of _Crognard_ the Barbarian. He’d learned the hard way not to interrupt Mikey’s cartoons, and made haste to switch the channel to the news before the orange-clad turtle on the couch had the chance to become invested in the next episode.  
  
“The rate of mysterious disappearances has spiked, with still no evidence as to whom the culprit might be. The found cases of disappearances are most common at the heart of the city, and drop to a low around its limits. If you are watching this from New York City, we advise you to pack your bags for at least a week, call a loved one to let them know where you are going and when you plan to get there, and evacuate the city. Repeat: evacuate the ci- i- i-i-i-”  
  
The TV glitched, audio stuttering and visuals freezing.  
  
Mikey sat up and exchanged a glance with Slash. They returned their attention to the TV.  
  
The station went black for a moment, then the screen froze, showing a metallic hand reaching for the camera. The screen went dark again, then a colorful pattern appeared on it with cheerful elevator music in the background. The screen read: TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.  
  
Mikey whimpered. “This has to be one of my top five horror movie come to life moments.”  
  
Slash considered asking what the other four were, then thought better of it. Instead, he said, “Why, these sick creeps! I oughta crush them under my fists. If only I had my team!”  
  
Mikey ducked his head as Slash turned the TV off.  
  
“Maybe it was the wrong choice to send them away. We probably could have taken those nuisances before they started kidnapping humans…”  
  
Michelangelo hugged his knees to his chest.  
  
“I guess I can’t make all the right decisions.” He huffed. “Wish I knew how much was riding on it, though…”  
  
“It’s _my_ fault they left!”  
  
Slash turned to face him. “What?”  
  
“It’s my fault they left without us!”  
  
Slash blinked and furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? I gave them permission to leave without me. If anyone’s the reason they left, it’s me. That was just the choice I thought was best. They’d be able to make a plan in safety.”  
  
“But if they wanted the best for their plan, they would have taken you with them!”  
  
Slash sat down beside him. “I don’t follow.”  
  
“They left,” Mikey said. His eyes glassed over, and Slash wondered if he was talking to him. “They really left. They just broke our rule－no turtle left behind.”  
  
“Woah now,” Slash said. “They had to. They were being chased out.”  
  
“It’s not as simple as that.” Mikey shook his head. “They stuck to that promise before, no matter what it took.”  
  
“Are you mad at them for leaving?”  
  
“No. No, they did what they had to. I’m glad they’re… _they’re safe. They. Are. Safe._ ” He tried to state that last part as firmly as he could, but even so, his voice wavered. “I’m just… surprised, is all.”  
  
“Surprised at what?”  
  
Tears pricked at the corners of Michelangelo’s eyes. He held a hand up to his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think they wanted to get rid of me enough to leave you behind, too!”  
  
Slash started. He replayed the words in his head, trying to grasp exactly what Michelangelo was saying. He didn’t know exactly how, but he knew Mikey was wrong.  
  
“Michelangelo, they wouldn’t.”  
  
“Of course they did!” Mikey stood and paced in front of the couch. The same restless energy Slash had seen in him the past days peaked, trembling in his every step. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s my fault Leo got unmutated! I’m the one who made the retromutagen spill all over him! They said it before: I’m a clumsy, lousy excuse for a ninja! They said I’m an idiot! I should have listened when they told me to stop screwing up and pay attention! Just like Leo always told me to remember my stupid phone! I unmutated him, and I couldn’t even do that for him!”  
  
“Michelang－”  
  
“I couldn’t even pay attention to anything shoved right in my face! There we were, trying to deal with the gas the whole night, and I couldn’t even remember about that! I almost opened the door and let it in; it could have killed us all right there! I could have－” Mikey stopped pacing and froze stone still. “I could have killed them.” His lips curled into a crooked smile. “No wonder they wanted to get rid of me.”  
  
“Michelangelo, that isn’t true.”  
  
“It has to be.” Mikey gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. “They wouldn’t have broken their promise. Raph wouldn’t have let them.” He fidgeted with his hands. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess.”  
  
Slash read the smaller turtle’s expression carefully. Unless Michelangelo had become more dramatic since Slash had gotten mutated, he had never seen the normally cheerful turtle this distraught.  
  
“Michelangelo, they left because they had to. There’s nothing more to it than that.”  
  
Mikey hugged himself and gave an entirely unconvinced “How do you know?”  
  
“Because given the option, Raphael chose you and your brothers over me,” Slash explained, though his guts twisted to say so out loud, “And he forgave me for almost killing him and all of you.” He rubbed his neck. “Intentionally.” He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “My point is, I screwed up. Bad. But Raphael still cares about me. If he chose his brothers over me and he was willing to forgive me, then he would be more than willing to forgive you for your mistakes.”  
  
“But you only messed up once,” Mikey said. “I keep messing up. I’ve been a screw-up from day one.”  
  
Slash let out a deep, long-suffering sigh. He had always thought it was a given for him to keep Raphael’s secrets; to show no sign of knowing anything about Raphael that everyone else didn’t know, even though Slash remembered almost everything Raph had confessed to him while he was a pet. Even after being mutated, Slash had never considered exposing anything about Raph that the red-clad turtle wasn’t open about. Slash wanted to remain a trustworthy confidant in Raphael’s eyes, pet or not.  
  
But knowing Raphael in and out meant knowing Raphael would have shown a bit of softness in this situation. Raph would have dropped his tough-guy act and comforted his baby brother.  
  
And Slash had sworn he’d keep Michelangelo well, for Raphael’s sake.  
  
So, however reluctantly, Slash said, “You know, Raphael often spoke highly of you.”  
  
Michelangelo’s eyebrows raised. “He did?”  
  
“He did,” Slash echoed. Ugh, Michelangelo was the worst at keeping his mouth shut! If this got around to Raphael’s ears if－ _when_ they reunited, Slash would have a nightmare of a time trying to talk his way out of this one. Why was he doing this for the dork?  
  
For Raphael, Slash reminded himself. He pressed on. “Yeah. He often called you a talented fighter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was impressed.”  
  
Mikey considered this. “You aren’t making this up, are you? He… he never told me that.”  
  
Slash shrugged. “Raphael doesn’t tend to be open about very much.”  
  
“No,” Michelangelo said, distant. “He doesn’t.”  
  
“He doesn’t blame you. They don’t. And neither do I.”  
  
“They blame me for Leo,” Mikey said. “They deserve to.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Raph and I both blamed ourselves. They told Raph it wasn’t his fault. They didn’t say the same to me.”  
  
Slash hummed. “The blame for Leo’s unmutation might be something I don’t know too much about. But they don’t hate you. They wouldn’t leave you behind if they didn’t have to. That’s something I can say without doubt, from listening to Raphael.”  
  
Michelangelo’s eyes flicked to him for a moment, then settled off in the distance again. “Thank you.”  
  
He didn’t seem entirely convinced; contemplative more than anything, but Slash would take it. He wasn’t an expert in the slightest with these emotional things, so he would call any progress a win.  
  
Slash turned _Crognard the Barbarian_ on the TV again. Maybe it would provide Mikey a distraction from his thoughts.  
  
Social expert or not, it was apparent to him that Mikey was suffering from having too much time to spend in his mind. Slash couldn’t find another reason that Mikey’s feelings could get so blown out of proportion, except that what had started out as a little guilt and loneliness had escalated into a mess of extreme and half-supported conclusions. Some mindless entertainment might do him some good.  
  
Now. Back to matters he had some expertise in.  
  
Slash checked all the pizza boxes again, making sure nothing was in them. Sure enough, they were all empty.  
  
“I’m gonna go out and get more food,” Slash said. “You stay here and relax.”  
  
“You shouldn’t go out there alone,” Mikey exclaimed. “It’s too dangerous, dude.”  
  
What, did Michelangelo still think his injuries would do him in? His dislocated arm was getting better! “It’ll be a quick trip. Just there and back.”  
  
Slash barely caught the murmur of, “Don’t leave me alone.” He froze.  
  
Slash turned to find Michelangelo stiff in every muscle and imploring him with watery eyes.  
  
Maybe the food run could wait a little while. The poor kid had been through enough in the past few minutes.  
  
Slash went back to the couch and sat beside him. “Crognard it is.”  
  
***  
  
Casey found Raphael sitting on the porch steps. He studied the red-clad turtle through the mesh screen of the front door, evaluating his friend’s body language. Casey had known Raphael long enough to pick up on the cues that meant he’d calmed down.  
  
The hothead sat slouched over. He swatted at a bug, and, missing it the first time, went about batting at it until the filthy bug had faced his wrath for its heinous crime of approaching him.  
  
His anger was still volatile－ Casey hadn’t so much as considered it wouldn’t be－ but his attention to his surroundings meant he was no longer lost in his head. Casey ran the risk of becoming subject to his anger, but he wasn’t consumed by his thoughts now, so that was a risk Casey was willing to take if it meant Raphael might listen to what he had to say.  
  
Casey opened the door, which creaked on rusty hinges, and stepped out into the warm night air. He took a deep breath and soaked in his surroundings as he gave his friend a few seconds to recognize his presence and mentally prepare to talk.  
  
The porch light glowed yellow, a moth fluttering around it and making an occasional clink when it ran into the bulb. The place smelled of forest and grass and old wood. The light cast a silhouette of the porch rails, disproportionately tall from the angle of the bulb, onto the grass, running all the way up to the trees that bordered the property.  
  
Casey sat beside Raph on the step, and ran his fingers along a rough patch on the rail where the paint had chipped away while he waited for Raph to register that Casey was about to talk.  
  
It almost felt stupid to Casey to treat Raphael, the tough, kick-butt fighter, with the delicate consideration of giving him time to prepare, when Raph was the one to jump into fights without a plan.  
  
Still, anything to keep the hothead from blowing up felt necessary. These kinds of battles were not the ones Raphael enjoyed diving headfirst into.  
  
“So, to say that things are bad is an understatement,” Casey said.  
  
Raphael scoffed. “You could say that again.”  
  
“How are you holding up?”  
  
Raphael kept his gaze trained forward. Or at least Casey thought he did. It was hard to tell with the front of his face cast in dark shadows. “You heard what Splinter and I were talking about?” It wasn’t a question.  
  
Casey rubbed his neck. “Yeah. Kinda hard not to.”  
  
Raphael folded his hands between his knees and slouched even lower.  
  
Casey went back to tracing the outline of the paint-chipped patch. “Just to be clear, I don’t blame you for anything.”  
  
Raph turned his head, half of his face coming into the light and revealing his furrowed brow. “What gave you the idea anyone blames me for anything?”  
  
He shrugged. “It’s just easy to put weight on your own shoulders in these kinds of situations; think back to everything that might have gone better if only you’d done something a little different.”  
  
“Oh, and you’re an expert on my situation?”  
  
“Having to leave family behind in an alien invasion, not knowing if you’ll see them again? Actually, yes. I did that last time.”  
  
Raph stared at him for a long time. Then he looked forward again, darkness obscuring his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Casey said. “‘M’sure you have a hundred other things to be thinking about.”  
  
Raph turned to him. “Wait, where’s your family right now?”  
  
“My little sister had a father-daughter event Dad took her to for the weekend. He trusted me to look over the house. Knowing Dad, he’ll be checking the news and won’t come back ‘cause of the gas thing. He’ll be too afraid it’ll hurt my little sister, and get a hotel room somewhere to camp out.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
Casey made a face. “Ugh, I hope the Kraang don’t trash our apartment. Dad’ll pin it on me.”  
  
Raph slugged Casey’s shoulder. “That just means he knows you well. I wouldn’t put it past you to trash the place, either.”  
  
Casey mocked indignance. “Oh, come on! I’m better than that!”  
  
Raph squinted. “Are you though?”  
  
The two of them stopped, then snickered amongst themselves.  
  
It may have lasted all of two seconds, but it was still a relief to hear Raphael laugh.  
  
Raph’s grin fell a moment later, and he went back to staring ahead, shadows masking his face. “Alright then, alien invasion expert. What have you got for me?”  
  
Casey hummed. “I know it’s horrible, thinking you’re sitting around while your family’s worse off. I’ve been there. But what I found is the best thing to cope? Do what you can. Do the most you can. Even if that just means taking care of yourself and resting up, it still means another step closer to getting them back when you’re back in the fight again. Because sitting around and staying in your head?”  
  
Raph crossed his arms, not dangerously, more like he was supporting each elbow in the opposite hand.  
  
“It isn’t going to do anything. Even if life’s got you down, throwing you into situations you can’t control, you can feel a little better by knowing you’ve done all you can for now.”  
  
Raph scratched his chin. “That I’ve done all I can…,” he echoed to himself.  
  
“It’s hard to get back on your feet. You don’t have to start big.”  
  
Raph nodded. “You know? I think you’re right.”  
  
Casey patted his shoulder. “Glad to help.”  
  
Raphael looked out towards the road. He narrowed his eyes at it. Then he took in a long breath and stood. “I… should probably get some rest. I’m going to bed.”  
  
Casey exhaled through his mouth, allowing it to lift into the ghost of a smile. “That sounds like a good idea.”  
  
Raphael stopped before entering. “And Casey?”  
  
Casey turned on the step and stretched. “Hmm?”  
  
“...Thanks.”  
  
Casey nodded. “Anytime.”  
  
Raphael hesitated. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head, though, and opened the creaky door before disappearing inside.  
  
***  
  
Donatello glared at the vile substance in front of him.  
  
The retromutagen had given him months of mental agony while he tried to come up with its formula the first time. Then it had taken his brother from him.  
  
Easily his worst invention.  
  
And that was saying something, he thought bitterly, considering how some of his other ones turned out.  
  
Metalhead, whom Leo had doubted? Metalhead was gone now, leaving nothing but a gap in Donnie’s heart where the little robot had once occupied.  
  
But that was stupid. Metalhead was a robot. Robots couldn’t feel. Why did that engineered hunk of metal merit Donnie’s affection when his own brother, his own living, breathing, still mutated at the time brother had been so against it?  
  
It was just karma that Metalhead had been destroyed. Karma against what Donnie had thought was him offering helpful technological advancements, but the more he reflected upon it, the more he realized was his own pride of doing something better than perfect Leo.  
  
He deserved to lose Metalhead for putting too much trust in his own technological abilities.  
  
The Turtle Mech? That was another thing Leo had warned him against using, and the first thing he would be scrapping when they got home.  
  
Scrapping for spare parts and loose metals? No, scrapping to the junkyard. He’d had enough of his own inventions harming Leo; why give himself the means to make more?  
  
He’d burn the blueprints for that awful contraption alongside the formula for retromutagen.  
  
The retromutagen which now sat, incomplete, on his desk. He couldn’t believe he had spent months trying to create this disgusting thing.  
  
Donnie pushed himself, in his chair, away from the desk with a long-suffering sigh. He needed a break. At least from this. He doubted he would be able to go without doing anything to help－ _hopefully_ help, although his said track record suggested differently－ the situation.  
  
Donatello gazed across the barn to where Rockwell sat, typing away at a computer.  
  
“How’s it going?” Donnie asked.  
  
“Getting there,” Rockwell replied.  
  
“I could help.”  
  
“Not necessary.”  
  
Right. Even Rockwell could see through his attempts at helping.  
  
Donatello brought his chair back to his desk. He’d have to work on one of his own projects for now, though at this point, he’d much rather throw the retromutagen than complete it.  
  
Donnie pulled out his T-phone. He had been wanting to upgrade their communications system for a while. Now would be a perfect time to do it, too. No one would be calling each other, and there would be nothing jamming the logs for the past few days. A few less lines of code to worry about.  
  
Donatello pulled up the message logs to reorganize them in a more efficient way, only to find that several messages had been recorded in the logs in the past few days, all going from one specific phone to another.  
  
Donnie furrowed his brow. Had he accidentally allowed their messaging program to access a background application on his T-phone?  
  
He enlarged the message logs.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 3 DAYS AGO  
Get your butt over here. We’re at the city limits.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 3 DAYS AGO  
Hurry up!

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 3 DAYS AGO  
I swear if you don’t get here now, I will shove your head in the sewer water! >:(

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 3 DAYS AGO  
Please.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
We’re at the farmhouse. If you’re reading this, get your butt over here.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
Are you alright?

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
You better be.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
Pick up.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
Please.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
You’re scaring me.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
This isn’t funny!

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
Fine. Just take care of yourself, okay?

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, 2 DAYS AGO  
Goodnight. Sleep well, little brother.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
Leo’s doing alright. I’m not taking my eyes off him. He’ll be okay.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
Stop dilly-dallying and get over here.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
Donnie’s working himself down to the bone. He’s worried sick.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
We all are.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
So why don’t you show up and tell him to get some food and rest?

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
I’m sorry.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
I shouldn’t have left you behind, no matter what the odds.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
I know. No turtle left behind. I broke our rule.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
I love you, little brother.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, YESTERDAY  
Please be okay.

Donatello sighed and rubbed his eyes. His chest was heavy. Raph wouldn’t have forgotten that Mikey didn’t have his phone, would he?  
  
Donnie felt a little guilty at reading the messages that weren’t intended for his eyes, but some part of him made him keep going, in case one of those messages was miraculously titled MICHELANGELO TO RAPHAEL, but of course, that wasn’t the case.  
  
Calculating the time between Raph’s messages, the red-clad turtle was bound to send another soon, and Donatello didn’t want to have to stop in the middle of his work to go back and sort it into its proper position in order to update everything else.  
  
He could ask Raph not to use the text messaging system, but it didn’t strike Donnie as a good idea to indicate that he knew about Raph’s hopeful texts. He could just wait it out until Raph sent his next one, then start working immediately to avoid being interrupted.  
  
Perfect timing, he thought as the screen refreshed, and another message entered the system.

RAPHAEL TO MICHELANGELO, TODAY, 1:14 AM  
See you very soon, little brother.

Donnie raised a brow. That was unlikely. Not an entirely surprising message, though, considering the false hopefulness Raph had used in several of his previous ones.  
  
Donatello set the messages aside and went about updating the system.  
  
It was better than working on the retromutagen, at least.


	14. Chapter 14

A few episodes of  _ Crognard _ eased the heavy air after Michelangelo’s outburst.

Slash’s stomach growled. He stood, sick of sitting around, in both senses of the word. “We really do need some food.”

Michelangelo sat up and stretched. He sat on the couch for a few moments longer, reluctant to leave its warmth and comfort, but soon rose. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes, making them red and exaggerating the dark lines under them.

Slash walked over to the window as Michelangelo flicked the TV off.

The second the television's light dimmed, the two of them jumped and exchanged glances, each assuming the other’s was as wide-eyed as their own despite not being able to see each other.

“It’s dark,” Michelangelo pointed out. “And quiet.”

In any other circumstance, Slash would have rolled his eyes and pointed out that Mikey had just turned off their only light source, but he couldn’t agree more.

It wasn’t that the room had suddenly gone dark and quiet, it was that the room had gone  _ very _ dark and quiet.

So dark and quiet, in fact, that they couldn’t see each other, but could hear each other’s breathing.

Which should never happen in New York City.

The two made their way to the giant window on the wall.

“There’s a smaller window on the side that you can open,” Slash said. “Can you get it?”

Michelangelo went to the said window and slid it open.

Cool summer air drifted in. Slash could feel the draft from where he stood.

What he noticed, however, was what didn’t come in.

“Listen to that.”

Michelangelo’s darkened figure tilted his head towards the window so his ear hovered right over it. “Listen to what?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh?”

“There’s no car horns, there’s no one talking, there’s no nothing!”

Mikey rested his chin on the sill and let the cool air wash over him. “Maybe there’s some kind of event somewhere else in town?” He gasped. “Do you think it’s a fair? Do you think they have cotton candy? I love cotton candy!”

Slash shook his head. “No, if there was an event, we’d be able to see the lights. Especially if it was a fair.”

Mikey’s figure drooped. “Aww. I’ve always wanted to ride the teacups. I never got to, though, ‘cause Leo was afraid a human would see me. I rode a rollercoaster once though, after hours. Long story short, it’s broken now. Not my fault, though.” Mikey shifted his head towards the sky. “Oooo, pretty! Have the stars always been so bright?”

Slash glanced at the sky. The stars shone brighter than ever. “It’s because there are so few lights on in the city.”

“Cooooooool.”

“Not cool. Why do you think the lights are off?”

Mikey’s figure turned to him. “Because people wanted to see the stars!”

Slash lowered his head into his hands. “Because there weren’t enough people to turn them on when night fell!” He jabbed a finger at the glass. “Look at how many lights are on.”

“Not many,” Mikey observed. “Mostly streetlights. There aren’t many on in the buildings.”

“Which means everyone else either fled or was captured!”

“Oh.” Michelangelo jumped, reexamining the city. “That’s… that’s a lot of people.”

“And the lights that are still on are clear indications to whoever’s kidnapping everyone that those rooms are where they need to go to kidnap everyone else.”

“Oh. Oh, snap.”

Eyes better adjusted to the dark, Slash could start to make out Michelangelo’s face when the smaller turtle turned his head towards him. 

“What are we gonna do?”

“Well, less humans in the city means less humans to catch us. I say we make a trip to the nearest grocery store and get food and supplies. We should be on the lookout there and back, for any kind of clues or danger.”

Michelangelo gave him a double thumbs-up. “Sounds good, Chief!”

With that, they left the apartment and went down the hall to the fire escape, where they ran down until they could jump onto the nearest building’s rooftop.

“I think I saw a grocery store at the end of this street,” Mikey said, pointing one way down the block.

Slash ran in the indicated direction.

No cars drove by them as they ran. No people exited shops or crossed the streets or came up from the subway entrances.

A dark and quiet New York City was an unheard of New York City. It sounded like something that would only happen in a dream.

Yet, there they were. Slash mused the duo probably could have walked the sidewalk to the store without facing any trouble with humans.

When they reached the end, they lowered themselves onto the pavement in front of the grocery store.

The lights were on inside, but the cash register at the front was vacant. An electric generator droned on somewhere.

“Slice the cameras as we go in,” Slash said, pointing to all the said devices he could see from his place outside. “There might not be anyone to look at the tapes right now, but if they do later, we could be in trouble.”

Mikey stepped closer to him. “What if someone is in there?”

“Do you really think the police will believe some cashier claiming two turtle people came into his store and took some groceries?”

“I’m a little more worried about getting blamed for the whole ‘kidnapping everyone in New York City’ thing.”

That… was a valid point.

“It’ll be fine.”

The lights inside flickered. Michelangelo yelped and hugged Slash’s arm.

Slash hissed and jerked his bandaged hand away from the small turtle’s grasp.

Mikey cried out, realizing his mistake, and reached for the afflicted limb. He froze, staring at the bandage like it was the first time he noticed it. And maybe it was.

Slash pulled his bandaged arm out of Mikey’s sight and pressed on, walking through the store’s automatic doors in hopes that the peculiar feeling of walking into a public place would draw attention away from his arm.

As he entered behind Slash, Mikey threw shurikens at the cameras, disabling them one by one.

Slash caught a glimpse of the health and beauty section out of the corner of his eye.

There would be disinfectant there. He could get some, and some real bandages, too.

“You get whatever you want,” Slash said. “I’ll meet you here at the front when I’m done getting my things.”

Mikey’s eyes grew wide. “Split up?”

“It’s the inside of a grocery store,” Slash said. “We’d be able to hear it if someone else came in.”

“A psychopath murderer doesn’t care if you’re in a grocery store or not! Have you learned nothing from horror movies?”

The health section lay right next to the door. Slash would know right away if someone else came in, maybe even before. But he couldn’t tell Michelangelo that. The smaller turtle was already reluctant enough to let him get near battle as it was. Slash did not need Mikey treating him like he was made of glass.

_ One well-aimed hit and he was toast. _

Slash did not need to be babied. He did not need to be constantly watched over. He was not a pet any longer.

“It’ll only be five minutes.”

“Don’t leave me alone!”

Mikey stared with big, tearful eyes. He looked so small.

Slash groaned. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”

Michelangelo let out a relieved breath. He led the way down the aisles to the deli section at the back, and the refrigerated fruits and veggies beside it.

Slash picked a head of lettuce from among the vegetables and pulled out a singular leaf. He examined the leaf like it held the secrets of the world. If it did, he would have asked it how Raphael was doing at that very moment.

Michelangelo stuffed his arms with premade subs and sushi and filled carryout boxes with pizza and various sides, although most of the food on the hot table was long cold by now, and likely a day or two old. 

Seeing what his ally was supplying them with, Slash elected to gather some healthier choices in his own arm－ the bandaged one. The elbow that had been dislocated was still too stiff and sore to move. 

He glanced at Mikey, who now had a wobbling stack in his arms.

Slash shook his head. Had Mikey ever heard of a shopping cart?

Shopping carts. Those would be by the entrance. Medicines would be by the entrance. If he could shake Michelangelo there, if only for a few seconds, he might be able to grab what he needed.

“Hey, why don’t you get a cart for that? It’ll be a lot easier.”

Mikey carefully leaned back to meet his gaze around the towering pile of packages. “Will you come with me?”

Slash nodded.

The two started for the front of the store.

Now, how to distract him for just long enough…

They were almost to the entry when the lights flickered and died.

Mikey yelped and jumped, scattering his pile of various foods all over the floor. He inched closer to Slash, glancing every which way.

Slash surveyed the area for any sign of movement. 

Everything remained still.

“It’s probably an electric malfunction,” Slash said. “With no one around to maintain the power distribution, it was bound to happen eventually.”

A whimper said Mikey was not convinced.

Great. Now he’d never let him go.

Slash took a few steps forth to where a stack of shopping baskets lie by the entryway. He picked one off the top and placed it in the pile of spilled items before dumping his own armful of food into it. “Here, this will work.”

Mikey started picking his mess up.

While Mikey kept his focus on the task at hand, Slash snuck towards the health section.

“Where are you going?”

Slash froze, and glanced back.

For someone who kept his room so messy, Mikey cleaned fast.

Slash jabbed his thumb at the health section and searched for words. “I… I just thought since- since we’re out of supplies-”

“Good idea.” Mikey walked into the health section.

Slash blinked. Well, that was anticlimactic.

He followed close behind.

Mikey picked out some band-aids and measured them against his larger cuts, all of which had been steadily healing, but keeping them clean wasn’t a bad idea.

Slash swept a row of bandages into the cart and went to look at the disinfectant.

A lone, small bottle sat on the shelf.

No, that couldn’t be all they had.

Slash searched the aisle, only to find empty spaces on the bottle’s left and right where various sizes and brands of the stuff should have stood.

Just his luck.

Slash grabbed the bottle and tossed it in the cart. “That’s everything I need.”

“Then let’s get outta here,” Mikey said. “This place gives me the creeps.”

The duo exited the building into the empty night air.

Even on a summer night, the silence made the streets feel cold.

Mikey shivered and hugged himself.

“You could hear a pin drop,” Slash murmured.

Mikey nodded.

A warbling sound behind them rang like a bell in the dead of night. Pink light flooded the street.

They turned around and gasped, seeing a triangular, pink portal expand behind them.

More of the same eerie warbling echoed throughout the city; unearthly calls-and-responses crying out to each other as pink portals appeared on the streets.

Kraangdroids emerged from the portal behind them, all wielding heavy laser guns as they marched in neat groups.

“Run!”

They ducked around the grocery store’s corner to the alleyway behind it.

Michelangelo hopped onto the fire escape, then kicked the ladder down for Slash to climb before dashing up the steps and onto the roof.

Once on top of the store, the duo looked out over the roads.

“There’s too many to fight,” Slash said. “We have to go back to the apartment.”

They turned and ran.

“What’s happening?” Mikey cried.

“The Kraang have started the next phase of their invasion!”

“What does that mean? What are they gonna do?”

Slash glanced at him sidelong. “I don’t know.”

***

Donatello rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He had paused his work with the communications system to add another chemical to the retromutagen at the appropriate time. Working on retromutagen was quickly becoming his least favorite activity－ not that it had held any special place in his heart any other time he’d made it.

His eyesight blurred a little, and the bite of a forming headache gnawed at his brain, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was progressing smoothly, and would take the break he’d promised Raph once his working pace hit a block.

Donnie searched the desk for the next chemical he needed to add. Several of them looked similar, and he lowered his head to desk level to read their labels.

He caught sight of his reflection in the glass beaker. Even in the faint image of himself the glass provided, he could still see the tint of red in his eyes, and the dark circles under them.

Just a few more minutes, he told himself for the hundredth time. Then he would take a break.

He knew, deep down inside, that he was only as good about limiting his work time as Mikey was about limiting his sweets－ just a few more. 

He would press on. For Leo.

It was the least he could do for his brother, after everything he’d done to Leonardo.

For what he’d done to Leo, he deserved to work himself to exhaustion. He deserved worse.

When he heard footsteps, he pulled his gaze away from his sickly reflection to see who had entered.

Splinter approached his desk, April and Casey flanking his either side.

Donnie sighed and let his head drop, already knowing full well what this was about; and they were smart about it, too－ it would be harder to dodge all of them when it would be a three-on-one battle.

Donatello picked his head up. “Sensei.”

Splinter stopped beside his desk. “Donatello. You should get some rest.”

There it was.

“I’m wrapping up. I was just about to find a stopping point when I hit a block.”

“Really?” Casey asked. “‘Cause if I remember what Raph told me earlier, you’ve been ‘wrapping up’ since this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m almost done. Besides, it’s not that late.”

The trio stared at him. April put her hands on her hips, Casey crossed his arms, and Splinter raised a brow.

Donnie shrunk under their collective gaze, and turned to look at his clock, willing the time to be what he thought it was.

It wasn’t.

The clock read one-thirty, and judging from the darkness outside and the tired faces of his companions, it didn’t mean one-thirty in the afternoon.

“Oh.”

“Get some rest, Donnie,” Casey said. “Even Raph knew when to take a break; he finally went to bed.”

Donnie narrowed his eyes. Something about that sentence didn’t seem right, but his tired brain couldn’t quite keep up. What was wrong with it? Oh yeah.

“Nnnnno he didn’t,” Donnie argued, although he knew exposing Raph’s horrible sleeping habits likely wouldn’t get him off the hook. It was worth a try. “He came in here a few minutes ago. Took the Shellraiser and left on a grocery run.”

April furrowed her brow. “But we went for groceries just yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Casey said, “And he went to bed a little while ago. I saw him go inside the house and go upstairs.”

Donnie pursed his lips like he tasted something sour. He pulled his T-phone out and traced Raph’s location. “Well, he left just a few minutes ago,” he said. “And his phone says he’s definitely not at the farmhouse anymore.”

April looked at the phone over his shoulder. “Where is he?”

“On the interstate, headed south.”

April hummed. “That’s not the way to get to the store.”

“Wait, south?” Casey said.

“Yeah.”

Casey slammed his hands on Donnie’s desk.

“ _ South?” _

Donnie squinted at him. His brain felt like jello. “Yeah,” He repeated, not following.

“ _ Towards the city?” _

Donnie looked at the map. “Yeah, the interstate leads right by…” His brain caught up. “OH. Ohhhhhhhhh no.”


	15. Chapter 15

April ran with Splinter, Casey, and Donnie to the Party Wagon. “You don’t think he’d try to take the Kraang by himself, do you?”

“Of course he would!” Donatello wrenched the driver’s seat door open and jumped inside. He frantically patted around for the seat belt. “So long as Mikey’s still there－ and Slash, too－ that’s where his mind is. And he’s not going to change his mind on his own.” He clicked the buckle into place and started the engine before looking at April through the broken window. “We have to stop him.”

Casey walked up to the window. “Is it the best idea to try to stop him? I mean, even if you manage to, Raph’s stubborn. If he’s willing to pull this stunt once, he’ll do it again. He won’t rest until his whole family is safe. Besides, he’s bound to be out of reach by now.”

Donnie gritted his teeth. “I’m not saying he’s gonna like it. But he’s sleep-deprived and worn down right now. What chance does he stand against the Kraang? Against the gas?” His eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, the gas.  _ Please  _ tell me he’s not going to try to brave it!”

Splinter climbed into the passenger side. “You said he left not long ago?”

“He only could have gotten a few minutes’ head start.”

Casey groaned. “This is my fault. I said he should do the most he could; I didn’t mean-!”

Donnie punched the car horn. “Casey! We can discuss this later! He’s getting away!”

Splinter leaned forward to address their human friends. “Are you coming with us?”

“Raph left me to watch Leo,” April said. “Besides, if you catch him, I feel like this problem might be a bit more… personal. It might be best if we stay.”

The roar of the Party Wagon’s engine drowned out Casey’s call of “Good luck.”

Donnie sped to the edge of the property a lot faster than was comfortable for a gravel driveway. They hit the paved road, already speeding twenty miles per hour above the limit and gaining.

Donnie handed his T-phone to Splinter, Raph’s tracker still displaying on the map. “Where is he?”

“He is still far from the city,” Splinter said.

“Good. That means we can catch up to him.”

Splinter thought they might still be able to catch Raph even if he  _ was _ near the city, at the speed Donnie drove. He said nothing of it, though.

The uncontrolled speed bit at Splinter’s nerves, as did the fact that Donnie had to correct the steering wheel every second to combat the roaring wind flooding in his window. Neither of these details, however, held a candle to the knots in his gut, tied by thoughts of what could happen to his second eldest. He found himself wishing he had been better at consoling his hotheaded son; perhaps Raphael would still be safely at the farmhouse if Splinter hadn’t given a reason for Raph to blame him.

Donnie sped down an exit ramp and onto the highway. 

Splinter dug his claws into the armrests upon noticing that Donnie hadn’t so much as checked if someone was in the lane.

They made it into the lane safely, but Donnie allowed Splinter only a second of relief, proceeding to stomp the gas and weave around the surrounding cars.

The speedometer quickly slid above one hundred and continued to climb.

Donatello took one hand off the wheel to turn on the radio.

This was not the time for music, Splinter thought to himself, before realizing that his genius son had settled on a news station.

“...Furthermore, expect roads to be closed down around New York City, which has been abandoned by its citizens after a mass panic spread regarding a series of mysterious kidnappings. There have also been reports of alleged aliens walking the city, reportedly the same that were said to have taken New York over a while back.”

Splinter and Donatello exchanged horrified glances, causing Donnie to unknowingly near the car in front of him.

Donatello refocused his attention on driving. “WHOA!” He swerved, stripping the other car’s rear bumper off and causing the scrap of metal to go flying into the median.

Splinter raised a hand to his chest and shuddered. He felt as if his heart had been left behind in the other lane.

Donnie continued to weave through the cars. He never slowed, always choosing close calls with other vehicles over wasted time.

“How close is he?”

Splinter looked down at the phone. A little purple dot drew ever closer to the red one. “He is near.”

Donnie hazarded a glance at the screen, this time immediately refocusing on the road afterward. “Keep your eyes peeled for the Shellraiser.”

Splinter squinted out at the taillights ahead of them. “The headlights do not show much.”

“The Shellraiser has a pretty unique shape. We should still be able to tell from its silhouette.”

Splinter’s eyes settled on each truck for a moment with a spark of hope, only to be dashed once he could see the distinctly square shape.

He glanced at the phone again. The purple and red dots overlapped.

Any second now.

The Party Wagon flew by the traffic, whizzing by several cars a second. Splinter glanced at the speedometer again.

Never in his life did he ever think he would allow any child of his to even consider driving near one hundred fifty miles an hour.

This family was going to be the death of him.

Donatello turned the radio up to its max, but the whooshing of air drowned it out.

Splinter looked out the windshield. “What is that?”

Donnie squinted ahead. “A subway car! That’s it!”

At last, Donatello eased off the gas, weaving around cars until they were directly behind the Shellraiser.

Splinter considered their options. Raph wasn’t going to pull over, and running him off the road was simply  _ not  _ an option. Splinter would not risk hurting his son any more than he already had. 

He unbuckled his seat belt and stood as tall as he could, bent awkwardly over in the Party Wagon’s short cabin. “Bring us closer. I am going to change vehicles.”

Donnie sent him a moment’s glance, but did as told and tailed the Shellraiser’s bumper.

Splinter’s ears drooped, and not just because the cabin could not accommodate their height.

Raphael would not be happy about this. Splinter mourned the break he would form in their relationship by forcing Raphael to quit, but something had to be done. Given time, he would have a chance to patch up what he was about to break apart. 

Raphael’s life would be given no such chance if he were to succumb to their enemies in the city.

Ideally, Splinter would have sent Donatello across to reason with Raphael. Although the two were often at odds, Raph would be more likely to listen to someone who hadn’t wronged him so grievously.

But Donnie was still driving, and they could not take the time to pull over and switch for the risk of losing the Shellraiser.

What had to be done, had to be done.

Splinter rolled the window down and leaned out, determining where on the hood he could gain a reliable foothold. The wind threatened to throw him onto the road, drying his eyes and cutting through his fur to chill his skin.

Before he could get out of the Party Wagon’s cabin, the Shellraiser’s engine revved, and the remodeled subway car sped forth. 

Donatello must have sped up to match pace, because the wind blew stronger, and Splinter abandoned the idea of trying to balance on the vehicle. He ducked back into the cabin and rolled the window up.

Raphael kept gaining speed. Donatello followed.

Raph wove through the cars. Donnie mimicked his path, hot on his tail.

The speedometer quickly climbed to its previous rate. Every move Raph made, Donnie caught on quick.

Raphael cut into a diagonal gap between two close cars.

The gap quickly closed as the second car drew nearer to the lead car.

Splinter judged their window to move around them had closed.

Apparently Donatello had not, as he leaned all his weight into the gas and zoomed forth.

Splinter dug his claws into the armrests for dear life.

Donnie missed the first car’s bumper by what Splinter guessed to be hairs, and continued the pursuit.

“Cheap move!” Donnie yelled over the rushing wind, regaining his spot at the Shellraiser’s tail. 

Red and blue lights flickered over the road. 

“Uh oh.”

A siren wailed, distant and ever closing.

Splinter glimpsed over his shoulder. “Police!” 

“I know! I know!” Donnie pried a white-knuckled hand from the steering wheel to gesture to himself. “How are we going to explain this whole situation if they pull us over? I don’t even have a license!”

“Then it is best you do not pull over,” Splinter growled.

Raph sped up, as did Donnie, then the cop.

Splinter looked at the cop car behind them, then at the Shellraiser in front.

The siren blared in their ears, wailing cutting into the night.

“Raphael is still speeding up,” Splinter observed.

“The traffic’s clearing to the side for the cop,” Donnie realized. “He doesn’t have to weave around anyone.”

Splinter looked over his shoulder again. Blinding red and blue lights flashed in his eyes. “The cop is close.” 

“Oh, joy.”

“Do you know what they will do if we do not stop?”

Donnie poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration. “I think they’ll call for backup to block the road ahead.”

The two exchanged another glance.

“Call Raph,” Donatello instructed.

Splinter pressed a button on the side of the phone. The volume went up. He pressed another button. The phone shut off. He turned it back on, only to be met with a password screen.

Splinter’s growl alerted Donnie to his difficulties, and the purple-clad turtle seized the phone and without looking at the keypad, typed  _ Bootyyyshaker9000.  _

He handed the phone back to Splinter. “The home button is the one directly under the screen.”

Splinter pressed the said button and was able to locate the app with the phone icon.

“Just type in his name. The contact should come up.”

Splinter did so. “I cannot find it.”

“Oh yeah.” A ghost of a smile pulled on Donnie’s lips, if only for a moment. “I have him saved on my phone as  _ Destructive Hothead. _ ”

Splinter shook his head, but tapped in the assigned name anyway, and called Raph.

The phone rang out.

“He will not answer.”

“I didn’t think so. We’ll just have to wait for the voicemail.” At the beep of the phone, Donnie started, “Raph. Raph, I know you can hear me, knucklehead. Listen. The cops are going to barricade the road ahead. We can’t afford to get caught. If they get a hold of us, it’s game over.”

The two waited, listening and watching the Shellraiser, but Raph stayed speeding steadily ahead.

“He’s ignoring me,” Donnie growled. “That shell-for-brains is going to get himself killed before he even gets to the city!”

Splinter stared at the subway car, as if he could mentally reason with his second eldest through the pleading look. He was not going to lose another son. Not on his account. Not while he was quite possibly the reason Raph felt he couldn’t stay at the farmhouse any longer.

The Shellraiser jerked to the side, turning swiftly up an exit ramp. Donatello yelped and swerved, narrowly making it onto the ramp instead of the grass beside it.

The police car sped past, unable to change course in time.

The pursuit of the Party Wagon and Shellraiser continued, the two vehicles speeding onto the road ahead.

Raphael stayed in the right lane, while Donnie opted to take the left, and bring the Party Wagon right next to the Shellraiser.

“We need a place to cut him off,” Donnie said.

Splinter gasped. “Slow down! The lanes merge ahead. We do not want him to crash into us!”

Donnie squinted at the narrowing road ahead. “That’s it!” He sped up.

“My son, what are you doing?”

Donnie slammed the breaks right before the lanes merged.

A moment later, the horrible screeching of rubber shot through Splinter’s ears, the awful sound coming both from close and a little farther away.

The Party Wagon stopped with a jolt. Both Splinter and Donnie let out cries as the momentum crashed them forward into the dashboard and steering wheel respectively, where they both let out an “oof!”

Donnie groaned and slowly peeled himself off the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”

Splinter had to wait a few heavy breaths to reply. His arms ached where he’d braced them against the dash, and there would most likely be a bruise where the seatbelt dug into his chest, but all in all, he was intact. “I am fine, my son. Are you harmed?”

The purple-clad turtle clutched his head. “I’m pretty sure this is among the worst headaches I’ve ever had, but aside from that, nah.” He let go the break to let the Party Wagon ease off the road and into the grass, then shut the engine off.

The two rushed outside to find the Shellraiser at the edge of the merging lane, far enough down any passing cars would not hit it.

They raced to the door, flung it open, and jumped inside.

“Raph!”

“Raphael!”

They ran to the driver’s seat.

Raph spun the seat around and glared at both of them.

Splinter scanned his hotheaded son head to toe for any injury, and coming up with nothing other than the minor cuts and scrapes that had almost healed from their last time in the city, let out a long sigh. He suppressed the urge to go up and envelop his son in a giant hug right then and there. The relief was overwhelming, but Raph would not take kindly to any sort of affection from him. Especially now.

“You’re safe,” Donnie said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah. Thanks, genius! I don’t know what you thought running me off the road would do about that!”

“As if your actions could have been any less catastrophic? What were you thinking, running off to the city by yourself?”

“I’m doing what you won’t!” Raph yelled, more at Splinter than at Donnie. “I won’t leave them to rot.” He clenched his teeth. “Clearly not all of us understand that.”

“You idiot!” You think you can just run blindly in headfirst and expect to make it out with your head attached to your-”

“Donatello, that is enough.”

Donnie’s eyebrows shot up, but he fell silent.

Splinter calmly addressed Raphael. “The city is very dangerous right now.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t just leave them there!”

“We cannot risk losing you, Raphael.”

He scoffed. “If only you had the same attitude about Mikey, we’d all be on the same page.”

Splinter sighed for what felt like the gajillionth time that week. “Raphael, I wish more than anything that we were able to bring Michelangelo-”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” He stood. “Why did you leave him all alone up there to fend for himself? What about giving him a chance?”

“Not like Splinter tried to save both you and Mikey by putting himself on the line,” Donnie cut in.

Raph blinked. “What?”

Donatello’s eyes grew wide. “You were in the other-!” He walked in a circle before coming back to his place. “When we were just about to leave the city, Sensei tried to go back to save Mikey himself. He only stopped because the Kraang blew up his only path. Raph, he  _ did  _ try. He almost jumped out of the back of the freaking van to try.”

Raphael blinked again. He looked from Donnie to Splinter, who gave him a nod.

The red-clad turtle let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still need to save him! I can’t just sit idly by and twiddle my thumbs while he’s up against who-knows-what!”

“But none of us should face the Kraang alone,” Donatello said, giving pointed looks to each of them in turn. “We will come back for him. But we need to regain our strength first. The retromutagen’s almost done. Then we can start planning on how to take the Kraang.”

Splinter tilted his head. “Retromutagen?”

Donatello opened and closed his mouth, ultimately deciding on slouching over with an exhausted sigh. “Uggggggh, that’s right. It’s getting close to time; I should probably explain that part to everyone.”

Raph shook his head. “Every second we spend is another second he could be in danger.”

Donnie looked him in the eye. “Please. Just give me three more days to complete the retromutagen, max! If you’re not pleased with the progress I’m making then, You can go back to New York and I won’t stop you. But Raph,  _ please.  _ I am so close. We need to know if this will work for Leo or not. And once we know, we’re that much closer to making a final plan. But you can’t face the Kraang alone. Give us a chance. We’re almost there. We’ll fight with you. Our chances of recovering them will be so much greater.”

“No! No, why am I still listening to you? This could be the difference between life and death!” Raph shoved them aside and made for the door.

“No!” Donatello’s voice suddenly jumped into hysterics. “No, please! I can’t lose you, too! I can’t lose all of you!”

Raph froze in the door. He glanced at Donnie.

Moments ticked by in silence. Splinter was painfully aware that the fate of their team, and all of humanity by extent, could rest on the decision Raph made at that moment.

“Two days,” Raph said.

Donnie nodded. “Two days.”

Raphael turned and offered his hand.

Donatello shook it.

The three paused to consider the agreement.

“We should head back.” Donnie stepped out of the Shellraiser. “I’m gonna check the vehicles real quick; make sure they’re still good after all that.” He disappeared, leaving Splinter with Raph.

Raphael crossed his arms and stared at the ground.

Splinter studied him. “Thank you.”

Raph looked up. “For what?”

“For listening to us.”

“Don’t get all excited; this is only temporary. If Donnie doesn’t have the retromutagen done, I’m coming right back out, and don’t try to stop me.”

“Hmm.” Splinter stroked his beard. “Donatello will do everything it takes to keep you safe.” He saw Raph nod out of the corner of his eye. “But I fear that means he will work himself even harder to meet your deadline.”

Raph’s eyes flicked to the side. “I know. Donnie deserves a break more than anyone. But I stand by what I said: every second more they’re out there is a second more they’re in danger.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want Donnie to stress more for my sake, but I can’t do anything. Casey said I should try to do the most I could, so here I am, but even now I’m choosing between everyone’s safety, and-” He shook his head. “This entire thing is just a big mess. I’ll be a lot happier when we can fight the Kraang instead of…”

Raph’s brow furrowed. “Is it true you tried to save him?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

Splinter started. “Because you were right. Michelangelo should not have been left behind.”

“Then you tried to do the same thing I did. Why are you stopping me?”

A worthwhile question, Splinter supposed. “It seems that self-sacrifice is a harder loss to handle when you are not the one to do it.”

“Yeah, but the team could handle losing  _ me _ . I’m just another sibling.”

“Raphael, you are every bit as valuable to your brothers and myself as they are to you. You see yourself as their lesser because you can only see yourself from your perspective, but any of your brothers would sooner cast themselves in danger than have you face it. Judgement of importance is easily skewed when it is viewed from an inside perspective.”

Raph chuckled dryly. “Guess that sounds right. Otherwise, Leo wouldn’t have taken the retromutagen for me.”

“Would you not have done the same for him?”

“Of course I would have!”

“Then it is not a matter of importance. It is a matter of chance. You and your brothers all love each other dearly; who makes it out of the battle and who does not is not a matter of importance, but of who jumps to save the others first. You boys have all demonstrated such at one time or another.”

Raph remained silent, thinking.

“It is easy to feel guilty for not being the first to protect,” Splinter said softly. “Having one of your brothers beat you to the matter is not a show of low value, rather of but how much they value you.”

Slowly, quietly, Raph nodded.

At that moment, Donnie stepped back inside. “The Shellraier’s wheels are pretty worn-down.” He addressed Raph. “Could you park it inside the barn for me so I can change the tires?”

Raph nodded.

“Let’s get back, then. I have retromutagen to finish.” Donnie exited again, and Splinter started to follow.

“Wait.”

Splinter stopped and faced Raph.

The hotheaded turtle shifted uncomfortably, bringing himself to speak.

“Thanks… father.”

Splinter gave him a soft smile and a nod. Then he followed Donatello to return to their temporary home.


	16. Chapter 16

Slash should have known a single use of the ointment would almost take up the entire bottle－ just his luck.

Not that he’d had much hope of the tiny bottle lasting long, anyway, but seeing the pathetic amount sit at the bottom of the container twisted his gut. It wouldn’t even be enough to treat his entire wound again. He would just have to hope that the ointment he’d applied would chase away the infection plaguing his skin.

**Which,** judging from the still-yellowing, stinky, oozing, gaping wound, wasn’t _**likely.**_

Slash glanced over his shoulder, his back turned to Michelangelo, shielding the ugly gash from his companion’s sight.

Not that Michelangelo was looking at him, anyway.

The young turtle had his face pressed against the glass, staring down at the streets below them, which swarmed ever heavier with Kraang.

The aliens wouldn’t keep his attention forever.

Slash grabbed the bandages he’d procured from the store. He would want to wrap them tightly, to prevent any dirt from slipping in, especially considering his current lack of supplies. He wound them around his arm, clenching his teeth all the while to prevent himself from hissing and attracting Michelangelo’s attention.

Now more than ever, he needed not to give Mikey another reason to bench him.

Not that he would listen to Michelangelo’s command. Slash would not stay out of the action, whether the small turtle liked it or not. Mikey might try to fix the situation alone, though, and Slash would not let them get separated.

Not for his own sake, he told himself for the hundredth time, but for Mikey’s sake. Slash was still willing to fight, injuries or not. He didn’t need any help!

No, it was Mikey who should not go alone－Michelangelo, who was used to fighting as a group, and would therefore be disadvantaged if he fought alone. Yes, that was it!

Slash finished wrapping his arm and tucked the end of the cloth under itself. He gave his hand a test squeeze, then wiggled his fingers experimentally. The bandaged pinched, but it would not allow any more dirt in.

Satisfied with his work, Slash went to join Mikey by the window.

By now, the Kraang had finished filing out of the portals and were systematically marching the streets in groups. The scene looked like something out of an animation; from above, Slash could see the rhythmic perfection of the robots’ motion, each group of droids rounding the street corner in time with those patrolling the blocks in front of and behind them. They looked like little marching ants from so far above, but Slash knew those so-called ants would do them in if they weren’t careful.

He subconsciously ran his hand along the rough patch in his plastron where the gas had eaten away. It ached still, not as bad as his arms, but a dull and constant pain he knew would remain long after his arms had healed. **The** surface had gone from sickeningly malleable to being partially hardened, like the top was a dried-over jelly, under which the contents remained ever **_pliable_**.

“That’s a lot of Kraang,” Michelangelo observed, his voice a whimper more than anything.

“No kidding.” Slash looked over the city of marching ants.

Mikey leaned all his weight against the glass. “I wish Leo was here! He’d come up with a plan to get past all the Kraang!” He huffed. “Even the pre-boss level ones over there.” He pointed diagonally from their apartment.

Slash gazed in the indicated direction. “Pre-boss level?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said. “You see these ones real close?”

Slash looked down.

“They’re kinda spread out. There’s a few seconds between Kraang groups. You could sneak past them, easy. They’re like, the tutorial level.”

Slash observed the Kraangs’ pattern. Just like Mikey said, there was a gap of about two seconds between when one group rounded the corner to the next street and the next came－ a gap where they could potentially cross the street unobserved.

“But over there? They change their pattern. It’s not so easy to sneak by. Then it gets harder and harder. Past tutorial mode and on towards the boss battle.”

“You’re right!” Slash’s mind raced a million miles a minute.

“Why couldn’t they all stay on tutorial level? It’s not like conquering an alien invasion is a common skill!”

“Michelangelo, you’re a genius!”

Mikey turned to him and took a theatrical bow. “Why, thank you for noticing.”

Slash paced the room. “If we can figure out a way to sneak past each pattern of Kraang, we’ll be able to walk through the city unnoticed!”

Mikey’s face lit up. “And then we can go for walks instead of staying cooped up here all the time!”

Slash shook his head with a sigh, returning to the window. He considered Michelangelo’s words. “Boss level, huh? I bet whatever they have behind the tighter-guarded streets is important to them.” He looked at Mikey. “So we need to figure out all the patterns between here and there.”

Mikey gave him a smile and double thumbs-up. “Right!”

Slash made a fist and threateningly struck his opposite palm－ which was a very bad idea, he realized a moment too late. He tried to hide his flinch by immediately assuming a confident stance afterward, gazing dramatically out the window. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere. These gum wads are going down!”

A warbling sound echoed off the room’s blank walls, and pink light flooded in, casting vivid highlights and dark shadows over the apartment. Michelangelo’s muffled cries rang loud in the silent city. Slash saw the reflection of a pink triangle behind him in the glass, and several struggling figures.

He gasped and turned to find dozens of writhing, grabbing, metallic arms reaching through the portal, tangling up in each other and latching onto anything they came into contact with. A few Kraang heads popped out from the pink triangle; one robot had even managed to fit its entire torso through the portal, and had its hands clamped in iron grips around Michelangelo’s mouth. 

The other hands quickly found the young turtle, and seized him anywhere they could, metal fingers gripping his skin until it turned pink and white.

Mikey struggled against their grasps, squirming wildly and kicking his feet, but they dragged him back.

The orange-clad turtle cried out against the cold hands over his mouth, eyes wide as saucers, the pink portal’s light shimmering in the terrified tears that filled them.

Slash reached for his mace, only to be met with empty air. 

Of course. He couldn’t even remember exactly when he’d lost it.

No matter. He let a growl grow into a roar, and charged the portal.

He stepped to the right of the portal, allowing him to use his uninjured elbow to strike their arms.

The group of Kraang lunged forward with the strike as it drove them down.

While he was still near enough, Michelangelo used the opportunity to hook his foot around the back leg of the couch.

The Kraang responded by continuing to pull him towards the portal, dragging the couch along, too, in their efforts.

Slash peeled their hands away from Michelangelo’s arm, allowing him to fight back, as well. 

For Raphael. He was _not_ about to let Michelangelo get taken. He was _not_ about to let his most trusted friend down.

Just as soon as Mikey was about to swat one of them away, they caught his arm again and latched onto it even harder.

Slash watched helplessly as the young turtle stared wide-eyed at him, screaming an unintelligible plea for help into his captor’s hand.

Slash dashed to the TV set, lifted the entire thing, regardless of the plugs and wires, and threw it at their arms.

The set bounced off and crashed onto the ground.

He cupped his head in his hands, realizing Mikey was already disappearing into the portal.

Having no other plan, he charged forward again and grabbed the small turtle, and a very painful game of tug-of-war began.

The Kraang pulled his companion further into the portal, jerking him forward, as well. The movement made the portal’s light dance across their metal, and something overhead, too.

Slash looked up and saw the portal projection device from which the triangular light emanated. He reached up and tapped one of the buttons on it.

The portal steadily began to shrink.

Slash grounded himself, then pulled Michelangelo back towards him with all his might.

As soon as the orange-clad turtle was fully in the apartment, Slash used his other hand to snatch the TV set and stuff it into their grabbing arms.

The portal closed around their arms and the TV, severing all of which from their parts on the other side. 

An awful CLANG resonated throughout the building when the said severed parts all dropped to the ground, the portal device making a little _clink_ as it fell, too, a moment later, the silver cherry on top of the scrap metal sundae.

Michelangelo freed himself from Slash’s hold and went up to inspect the pile. “Aw, no, the TV’s broken!”

Really? _That_ was what he was going to focus on? “A thank you would be nice.”

Mikey grinned at him. “Thank you!”

Slash raised a brow. It was as if the entire thing had never happened! 

He approached the junk pile to inspect it himself, particularly the portal generator. “That was really weird.”

Mikey picked up an arm and started flailing it. “I know! That’s not usually their style.”

Slash hummed. “If the city were under its usual, bright, loud conditions, that would be a stealth attack.” He looked around the apartment again, just in case.

“Yeah, that’s _really_ out of line for them. I wonder why they changed their tactics?”

Slash sucked in a breath. “So do I. Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.”

***

Raphael pulled a small bowl out of the refrigerator, which held the contents of the breakfast Donatello had prepared for Leonardo.

It was some comfort to know that Leo’s nutritional intake was so closely monitored by someone who knew what he was doing, though that comfort was more than overrun by the hundred negative things swarming in Raph’s mind.

If he was being honest with himself, he was still processing his conversation with Splinter, and the agreement he had with Donnie. He glanced up at the clock－ six hours since he, Splinter, and Donnie had arrived at the farmhouse. Forty-two hours until he would leave and resume his rescue mission, with or without their help.

He cupped the cold bowl in his hands as he walked out to the dining room, hoping the chill seeping into his hands would help keep him out of his head.

Raph arrived at the table and reached over Leo’s tank to tip the food onto his basking rock before sitting down in front of the little turtle’s tank.

Leo lazily followed his movement with beady black eyes.

He and Raph stared at each other.

“Your food’s right here,” Raph said, pointing towards the basking rock.

The little turtle followed his gesture, but stayed put under the water.

“You’re usually really excited to get to it.”

The little turtle slowly blinked.

Raph folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. “Not feeling it today? Yeah, me neither, buddy.”

Leo stared.

Raph sighed. “You know, I feel kind of silly talking to you in there. I know I talked to Spike all the time, but this feels… different. Like I’m expecting you to understand as much as you… as you would have.”

Leo blinked.

“Which… I don’t know… maybe you do?”

The little turtle stayed still.

“I know. That’s silly.” Raph frowned. “I really miss you, Leo. I miss you being here. _All_ here. We’re so lost without you. If you were here, you’d talk it out with me.” He let out a chuckle. “However much I’d try to ignore you. I always wanted you to mind your own business; let me figure things out by myself… well, I guess I got my wish. And it sucks. I need you to lead me now more than ever. I’d listen to you to a T if it meant having you back now.”

The little turtle blinked.

“Donnie’s working on something for you. He says it only has a small chance of working, but it will! It will turn you back!” 

Raph placed a hand on the tank’s side. “It has to.”

He pressed his forehead to the glass, trying to ignore the moisture in his eyes. He stared in at the little turtle who stared right back out at him.

No sign of understanding. No sign of hope. No sign of sympathy, or sadness, or anger, or anything.

“It has to,” Raph repeated.

Approaching footsteps drew his attention away from the tank.

Donatello stopped in the doorway, the circles under his eyes even darker since the last time Raph had seen him.

“Come to the barn,” Donnie said. 

“I need someone to watch over Leo.”

“It won’t take long,” Donatello replied. “Besides, everyone’s gonna be there.”

Raph cast a wary glance at Leo, but the small turtle still floated lazily about the tank. He hadn’t moved a muscle, save for slowly blinking. As inactive as he was today, how much trouble could he get into in a few minutes?

Raph stood and followed Donnie out of the Farmhouse.

Raph walked through the grass, still dewy in patches where shadows had just left. “What’s this about?”

“You already know the bulk of what I’m going to tell everyone,” Donnie said, “But I figured you might as well be there to discuss anything so I can tackle any questions anyone might have at once.”

They entered the barn and walked around the Shellraiser before coming to where everyone else was already waiting in front of Donnie’s desk, talking amongst themselves in curious murmurs.

Upon seeing him, April rushed up to Donnie. “What’s this all about?” 

Donatello stood beside the desk cluttered with his current project. “I have an announcement to make.

The murmurs died down.

“Thank you.” Donnie cleared his throat. “I, uh… didn’t want to make a big deal out of this and get anyone’s hopes up, but… regardless of whether or not this works, some pretty big changes are going to be happening pretty soon, and it seems only fair I gave you all a days’ notice.”

The room stayed respectfully silent, though an air of anxiety settled over the listeners at these words. 

Donnie gestured to his experiment. “As you might have guessed, from the similar complection of the chemicals I am working with, I am almost done with a batch of retromutagen, the purpose of which…” He trailed off, and squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain.

Splinter stepped towards him, reaching out. “My son?”

Donnie took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Please understand, before I continue on, that the odds of this working are less than one percent. And if this doesn’t work, then… there is nothing I can do.”

“Do for what?” Rockwell asked.

Donnie paused. “For Leo.”

Splinter’s ears flicked.

“But he’s already a regular turtle,” Casey pointed out. “How is retromutagen going to help him any?”

“I’m not going to use the retromutagen on him.” Donatello looked at Splinter. “I…” He cleared his throat again. “If Leo is mutated with the same DNA that he was mutated with fifteen years ago, there’s a chance he might go back to normal. It’s only a chance, though! We don’t know exactly how mutagen works; it could mutate him with the same alleles of the DNA, or he could turn out entirely different. And even if he does mutate back to normal, there’s no telling what effect the transformation will have on his brain. He might not remember anything.”

“So we need the DNA he was mutated with fifteen years ago,” April said.

“Yes. Which is either one of three things: from the pet store shoppers, from the pet store’s workers, or from Splinter.”

“But Splinter got mutated,” Casey said. “Wouldn’t his DNA be different now?”

Donnie nodded.

Splinter looked at the vials. “Which is why you need the retromutagen for me,” he realized aloud.

Looks of confusion turned into looks of understanding.

Donnie nodded. “Yes. Of course, that’s up to you. With so small a chance for Leo…”

“I will take the chance, no matter how small,” Splinter insisted with no trace of hesitation. “Becoming human again will take some readjustment, but that is no price to pay if it brings even the smallest chance of returning my son to me.”

Mondo looked at the vials, then down at his gecko hands with an unheard murmur of “Human again?”

“The retromutagen should be done by sometime tomorrow,” Donnie said. “Then we can try to re-mutate Leo, but… don’t get your hopes up. Like I said, there’s less than a one percent chance. Statistically speaking, Leo is…” He shook his head. “Gone.”

Splinter placed a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, I am proud of you, my son. I know how very hard you have worked.”

Donnie patted Splinter’s hand with his own. “Thank you.” He turned to address everyone else. “That is all.”

The group all waited around to see if anyone would bring anything up regarding the topic, but filed out one by one, leaving Donnie to get back to his work.

Raphael left, heart drumming in his head, but not from anger this time.

By the end of tomorrow, he would know whether or not Leo was gone for good.

He wasn’t ready to know.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter this week, short chapter next week.

It sickened him.

Everyone seemed to have their way of stopping in and congratulating Donatello on his hard work. They told him everything would be okay. They told him he’d tried his hardest, and reassured him that even if things didn’t work out, his tireless efforts would not go unappreciated. They commended him on trying so hard to begin with. For his scientific know-how and his willingness to work through what he could.

Didn’t they see? If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t even have to deal with this to begin with. 

As Rockwell was working close by, Donnie suppressed a sound of disgust－not at the retromutagen in front of him this time, but at himself.

It was as if they hadn’t even stopped to consider the fact that the last fruits of his efforts had done more harm than good.

Or maybe, Donnie thought, they had considered it.

Perhaps they were only showing him some sympathy before Leo returned－ before they  _ thought  _ he would, at least.

Donnie knew better. It wasn’t happening.

He’d run the stats himself. He’d seen the final result on his calculator that was the chance of Leo returning to normal, given all the variables Donnie could think of. The zero between the decimal and the numerical value was not comforting in the slightest.

Donnie ran and reran the calculations, only to come up with the same result.

The numbers were too small. Leo wasn’t coming back.

Not that he would give up because of that－ if there was any chance, he would take it.

But even as he worked, he repeated the phrase to himself, trying desperately to stomp out the little spark of hope that clung stubbornly to him. It would only hurt him more later if he did not succeed in extinguishing it now.

Leo isn’t coming back. Leo isn’t coming back.

Of course, everyone else would choose now of all times to have too much faith in him. They probably thought that once Leo returned, the leader would be the first to tell him exactly how harmful his inventions and experiments were to the team. After all, Leo had always been the one to doubt his inventions before. Surely he wouldn’t stand to see Donnie working on them again after what he’d done to him.

Donatello would just have to beat him to the punch－ which was not a difficult feat, seeing as his opponent was a little turtle doomed to be such forever, and therefore inarticulate. All of what he didn’t need for the retromutagen was packed away in boxes under the desk, and what he had back at the lair would be soon to follow, should he ever step foot in the place again.

Which wasn’t likely, seeing that they would need a good plan to overthrow the Kraang, and as he told himself for the millionth time, their leader wasn’t coming back.

But man, that flicker of hope was persistent.

Stomp it again.

Leo wasn’t coming back.

It wasn’t like him to tell himself that, and he knew it. He was usually one to make promises too optimistic even for his scientific knowledge. But he had learned from that. He was tired of getting his hopes forcefully doused instead of preparing them to die out by himself. He was tired in general. Tired, tired, tired...

A knock at the barn door drew Donnie out of his stupor, and he jumped, realizing his head had fallen into his hand, and his eyelids had started to droop. To think he’d almost fallen asleep when Raph was counting down the time and everyone was depending on him－ the nerve! He turned in the direction of the sound to find Raph peering around the door.

Great, another person to come and offer fake encouragement before Leo would supposedly be sentient enough to speak all their minds. Donnie briefly wondered how quickly they would turn against him when they realized the same thing he’d been repeating to himself for the past… he didn’t even know how long.

Then he saw Raph’s eyes, too wide for his brother to simply be stopping by to give his regards, and he kept glancing off towards the house.

“What is it?” Donnie asked.

“It’s Leo.”

Amazing, Donatello would remark later, how quickly a surge of adrenaline could chase off any lingering feelings of lethargy. He stood and ran to Raph, then the two hurried back to the farmhouse, making a beeline for the dining room immediately after entering.

Donatello lowered his face to Leo’s tank, and watched to make sure the little turtle was still breathing.

Leonardo drifted lazily in the tank, and gave a slow blink.

The presence of any activity at all, however minimal, allowed Donnie to breathe again.

“What’s the problem?”

Raph sucked in a breath. “Well, you said a turtle who eats well and sits on the basking rock often is usually healthy?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said. He looked at the said basking rock, which was dry, disproving the idea that Leo might have come out of the water recently to sit on it, and various veggies and insects lay on it, wrinkled and dry. “Wait, those look like the things I put in his meal for breakfast!”

“They are,” Raph confirmed.

“But it’s nearly-” Donnie spun to survey the clock, and his heart dropped.

It was well into the night. Twenty-eight hours until Raph would leave if the retromutagen was not complete.

The sight of the clock reminded Donnie how so very tired he was. When was the last time he’d rested?

“Maybe he doesn’t like those particular foods?” Donatello suggested.

“He ate them before.”

Donnie observed the sluggish turtle in the tank. “How has his physical activity been?”

Raph laughed, though there was no humor in it. “What activity?” He pointed at Leo. “Check out his shell, though. It looks… different.”

Donnie did so, and found a patch on Leo’s carapace that was more silvery-white than tan and black.

“Shell rot!”

“Shell rot?” Raph echoed, concern showing in his voice.

“Raph, how often have you been changing Leo’s water?”

“Every day.”

Donatello internally winced. A turtle’s water did not need to be changed that often, and Raphael knew that. The attention he gave to Leo’s well-being was nothing less than a display of care, and probably anxiety, too. Raph had catering to every detail to keep Leo healthy, and yet the little turtle had still gotten sick under his watch. He knew his red-clad brother wouldn’t take very well to that.

“Mr. O’Neil!” Donnie called! “Mr. O’Neil?”

Footsteps approached from the living room, and the man presently appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

“How long has it been since this house’s water has been tested?”

Kirby thought it over, then looked sheepish. “This is a vacation house that I never thought I’d return to after my wife died many years ago.”

“So it’s been forever?” Donatello clarified.

Kirby nodded.

“Why?” Raph asked. “What does the water have to do with anything? What’s wrong with him?”

“Shell rot is a condition under which a turtle’s shell can waste away, due to water that is too dirty or too salty. I suspect this house may have a lot of minerals in its well, considering the land on which it is built and the fact that the water has not been tested in many years, meaning that the mineral content could have long since exceeded the legal standards without any inspection.”

“Could the water really hurt his shell that fast, though?” Raph asked. “We’ve only been here for a few days.”

Donnie hummed. “Maybe whatever water he was exposed to before being unmutated still has residue on his shell－ the stuff from the sewers would be a lot more harmful than just tap water with high mineral content. And it’s only affecting him now because our immune systems have built up to resist the bacteria in the sewers over the years, but his system right now isn’t built to take it.”

“But what do we do? Will it kill him?”

Donnie took another look at the turtle in the tank. “In severe cases, shell rot can kill-” He cut himself off, seeing Raph’s unhidden terror. “But thanks to your watchful vigil over Leo, you caught it early. He should be fine, with some cleaning of the affected area and antibacterial ointment. The more important thing is that you keep him eating－ as early as the shell rot is, his lack of appetite will get to him quicker.”

“Good thing we only have a day until re-mutation, then,” Raph said.

He looked relieved. Donnie didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Instead, he watched the little turtle floating aimlessly in the tank.

If his theory was correct, then Leo was only succumbing to this infection because he was a normal turtle again. Because of Donnie.

The genius put a hand against the tank. 

Raph and Kirby were still there, still listening.

If not, Donnie would have broken down right then and there and told Leo just how sorry he was, regardless of whether or not the small turtle could understand him.

Regardless of whether or not the small turtle would ever be able to understand him again.

***

Upon their arrival at the farmhouse, Mondo Gecko and Leatherhead had settled on staying in the basement to sleep, the space being large enough to accommodate Leatherhead’s size, and although it was dark and musty, it was a luxury compared to some of the places they had been forced to spend the night. What really mattered to them was that it was sheltered and dry; they could put up with the low lighting and earthy smell if it meant having a roof over their heads to sleep. Besides, they were used to much worse arrangements. What was a comfortable place to them would be unpleasant to those above who were used to staying in warm, comfy beds. It only made sense that they should be the ones to stay there.

The O’Neils had urged them to stay above and find more comfortable places－ they could set up in the hall for the night, or squeeze into the living room－ but they risked getting in the way, and both were active areas. They would be woken by the early risers’ movement, and despite Leatherhead’s previous progress towards becoming less volatile when woken, the invasion had stirred something in him, and it remained best he was not disturbed.

So the basement it was. The O’Neils had given in when Leatherhead and Mondo agreed to at least let them put a mattress and some blankets down there to make it a little cozier. 

Mondo sat on the mattress now, despite it being afternoon. Leatherhead had long since gone upstairs, and Mondo could hear the distant clutter of his friends finishing up their lunches.

He wasn’t hungry, and at the moment, he found it much more appealing to be away from all the activity. Away from everyone upstairs.

So much for that, he thought, as he heard the trapdoor open.

The wood creaked as someone hurried down.

“Eleven hours left… can’t believe I’d lose track of time that quickly…” muttered a voice he recognized to be Donatello’s.

Mondo pulled his feet off the ground to hug his knees tight as he watched Donnie’s form reach the ground. A hundred ways to say what he needed to ask raced through his head, none of them fully-formed, none of them  _ right.  _

Donnie’s head peered around the corner at him, looking even more exhausted since he’d last seen the purple-clad turtle at the meeting, if that was even possible. 

The genius turtle glanced around the room, then back at him. “He isn’t here?”

Mondo took a moment to process his question, then, realizing he could only be talking about Leatherhead, shook his head in response.

Donnie walked up to the Kraang ship half-buried in the dirt floor. “Rockwell told me he found some mutagen in here when he disabled everything.”

The ship had been covered in a sheet to prevent the sight of it from aggravating Leatherhead any further, and Rockwell had gone through and disabled every last mechanism that could potentially go off and cause problems.

Despite the cover, Mondo often caught Leatherhead staring at the ship’s form, a low growl rumbling from his throat.

Mondo could hardly blame him. Leatherhead had just lost Slash and Mikey to the owners of that ship.

Donatello peeled the cover aside to allow himself entry to the ship and disappeared inside.

Mondo reached out towards him, considering, then jerked his hand away.

Donatello was already exhausted enough without him bothering him.

Mondo rested his chin on his knees and stared at the ground.

Before long, Donnie returned, triumphantly holding the canister of mutagen.

A second pair of footsteps started at the top of the stairs, this one slower and heavier.

Donatello hurried to cover up the ship, then gave Leatherhead a wide berth to come down before returning upstairs himself.

Leatherhead gave the offending ship a glare, but continued on to sit beside Mondo on the mattress.

The sound of the trapdoor creaking closed told them Donnie had left.

“Sup,” Mondo greeted halfheartedly.

“I have not seen you very much today, my friend,” Leatherhead observed. “Are you alright?”

Mondo shrugged.

Leatherhead put a paw on his shoulder.

As intimidating as Leatherhead could be at times, he was very good at comforting people. It helped that he could practically fit Mondo in his paw like a doll－ one felt safe in the hands of a gentle giant.

Or at least, a giant who was gentle towards  _ him _ .

Mondo let himself lean into Leatherhead’s side. He would have denied such if asked, but the affection Leatherhead provided him when he was upset was exactly what he needed.

Exactly what he’d been refused by so many.

“In fact,” Leatherhead thought aloud, “You have been rather reclusive since Donatello called the meeting. Is that what has been bothering you?”

Mondo slowly nodded.

Leatherhead rubbed his shoulder. “I understand. We are all worried about Leonardo.”

“Leo? No, he wasn’t-” Mondo cut himself off. Heat shot through his cheeks. Leave it up to him to only be thinking about himself when everyone else had altruistic worries on their minds. “I’m sorry.”

He knew Leatherhead wasn’t thinking ill of him when the gator considered him; Leatherhead just wasn’t like that. Still, his friend’s silence felt like Leatherhead was boring holes into his back.

“My friend,” came the gator’s rumbling voice, “You can tell me what is bothering you. Whatever it is, I am sure you have ample reason for it.”

How was it possible, Mondo asked himself, for someone to be so simultaneously disarming and unnerving?

Nevertheless, Leatherhead had never failed to provide nonjudgemental council. Even if the gator was unable to offer any advice, he always aimed to understand his friends, rather than belittle them.

So Mondo charged forth, doing his best to explain his predicament to his confidant.

“I guess this whole retromutagen business has got me kind of… bummed. I mean, Splinter is gonna get to be human again, which I know is all part of the plan to turn Leo back. And I’m super excited for him to come back, really I am, it’s just…” Great. Now he sounded insincere, after everything everyone had done to return their friend and family to them. Hopefully Leatherhead understood what he was trying to say.

“It’s just I never really thought about being human again as an option. And now that that option is being waved in my face, I… think I want to take it?”

Leatherhead nodded. “I see.” He adopted a contemplative look. “What would you think you would do with your regained humanity?”

“Go back to my family,” he responded at once.

He hadn’t even spoken intentionally. The reply was right there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to come out. The thought of being returned to his parents－ his mother’s loving embrace, his father’s playful joking－ overtook any other.

Not only had he been forced to leave them the night they kicked him out, but also friends he’d made from around his neighborhood. Maybe it wasn’t too late to catch up with them and come back into their lives.

He only realized after he’d spoken how readily the answer had rolled off his tongue, and that Leatherhead could easily take it the wrong way.

It wasn’t that Leatherhead was a bad friend. The Mutanimals had quickly become his stand-in family, supplying him the acceptance his parents had refused to give. And they were much more attentive to him than Mr. X had been for the short time Mondo worked under him. But he missed his mom and dad, who had once promised that they would never let him go. Who he would get another chance with if he was good enough. Human enough. He didn’t mean to imply that Leatherhead wasn’t good enough to consider family.

But the gator apparently took no offense to his reply, instead nodding and saying, “I understand. I miss the human boy who used to watch over me. I often wonder what life would be like if I was still in his care.”

Mondo kicked the ground. “Having to leave people sucks.”

Leatherhead grumbled his agreement. He turned his head to Mondo. “What are you going to do?”

Mondo groaned. “I don’t know. Donnie has been working so hard on the retromutagen, and it feels kinda uncool to just walk up and ask him for some.”

“Perhaps you can work something out with him,” Leatherhead suggested. “You do not know what chance you have if you do not try.”

The gecko looked up at him. “You really want this for me?”

“I want whatever makes you happy.”

It was at that moment that the gravity of the choice truly hit him. Leave it to Leatherhead to be the most caring, trustworthy friend－ a friend Mondo would have to leave behind if he went through with his decision.

Sure, he could drop by every once in a while to say hello, but it wouldn’t be the same. Especially with parents who had proven not to take kindly to mutants, he would have trouble arranging a time to see the Mutanimals. They wouldn’t be a moment’s notice away to comfort the other when one got sad. They wouldn’t have each other’s backs in battle. They wouldn’t get takeout for supper before patrols. They wouldn’t talk about nonsense at three in the morning when one of them had a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep.

But Mondo would be able to see them  _ and _ his parents, even if their time together was limited.

Mind made up, Mondo stood. “Thanks, dude. That means a ton.”

Leatherhead nodded, flashing a pointy-toothed smile.

With that, Mondo left in search of Donnie.

***

Donatello used an eyedropper to add two drops of a chemical to the beaker heating over a hotplate. 

That was it. He needed to keep an eye on the simmering solution to see to it that it maintained a regular temperature, but after a few hours on the heat, the solution would be done, and after adding it to the base which he had sitting at the back of the desk, the retromutagen would be done.

He read the clock. If everything went smoothly, he should have the test over with just before Raphael was scheduled to leave.

Donatello had upheld his end of the deal. He had brought the retromutagen to its near finish, just as he promised Raph. The only question was whether Raph would stick around once he realized the solution would not work.

The deal they’d struck said Raph would stay if he was satisfied with Donnie’s work, and Donatello found himself wondering if he would count that as the retromutagen’s completion, or Leo’s return.

Donnie slid his chair back to allow himself ample room to stretch. He was thoroughly exhausted, and his muscles were cramped from sitting so many hours at the desk. In a way, he was ready to be done with the whole business. After he tested the results, he could finally collapse and sleep for a week.

In another way, he wanted to delay the test as long as possible. This was the only path he saw in which it was－ remotely－ possible to retrieve his brother whom he had wronged. In a few hours, he pictured himself creating a monster out of the failed test, and having to use the rest of the retromutagen to return Leo to his little turtle state. It was saddening to think that even Leo’s existence as a feeble turtle might be preferable to whatever came out of a mutation gone awry; might be the best form of existence he got for the rest of his life. In his sleep-deprived state, the thought of even conducting the test to begin with almost reduced Donnie to tears.

He knew he had to do it, but he did not want to.

Donnie considered whether he would join Raph, should the hotheaded turtle run back to New York upon seeing the results. 

He ultimately decided against it. As much as he wanted to help someone after all the wrong he’d done, he would only be a liability. He lost track of how many times he caught himself dozing off while working. 

Donatello realized that he was even more likely to fall asleep now that he was merely idling in front of the heating solution, and risked having it boil over under his lax watch, ruining it. He decided to busy himself with repairing the Shellraiser to keep himself alert.

The Party Wagon needed its window repaired, too, and he thought he recalled Mr. O’Neil saying something about heavy rain tonight－ the van’s interior would get soaked if not sheltered in the barn.

With one last glare at the chemicals on his desk, he went to stand up.

He stopped, though, hearing someone enter the barn.

Mondo Gecko hesitantly stepped inside and glanced over to where Rockwell would usually be working, but had gone inside for a break.

Donatello expected him to leave upon seeing his teammate was absent, but instead, he looked strangely reassured, and approached Donnie’s desk.

The gecko stopped in front of him, and shifted awkwardly. “Are you busy?”

“No,” Donnie answered. “Actually, I’m waiting on a slow chemical reaction right now. What’s up?”

“Well, I was just wondering… if you had any leftover retromutagen after all this… could I use it?”

Donatello had lived with Michelangelo long enough to know better than to just hand a potentially dangerous substance over－ especially after all the harm this particular substance had done. He quirked a brow. “What do you need it for?”

Mondo glanced out the door, then at Rockwell’s work station, then back at Donnie. “I want to change back.”

“Into a human?”

“Yeah. I’m willing to work for it, as an exchange.”

Donnie blinked at him. All the harm retromutagen had done, and he wanted to use it? 

Of course, Mondo using the retromutagen wouldn’t affect his mind, only his body. It would turn him back into his previous form, the one accepted by society.

He wanted to use it for a good thing.

He didn’t see the retromutagen as a poison, but rather a cure.

Donnie looked at the retromutagen, and for the first time since Leo’s unmutation, didn’t see it for a disgusting, vile thing, but something he created with potential to do good; what he had seen it as when he’d worked towards creating it.

He desperately grasped at those feelings of resentment towards his creation, trying to hold onto them. No use in losing sight of the harm it could do. He would not let himself get carried away again.

Still, Mondo wanted to use it to be reaccepted, and if there was still some good use left in his creation, then Donnie couldn’t resist in seeing it realized.

“You don’t have to work for it,” Donnie said. He stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth in thought. “Tell you what. I need to keep this batch, first for Splinter, then for Leo if things get… ugly. I’ll need some for Traag once we go back to the city to unmutate him, and hopefully the Kraang haven’t mutated many humans yet.” He shuddered at the thought. “Holy chalupa, I hope they haven’t mutated many! I don’t know how many more batches of this crap I can stand to make!” He collected himself and hummed. “But if there is enough left, yes, you can have some.”

Mondo’s face lit up. “Sweet! You’re the best!” He left with that, leaving Donnie alone to his thoughts.

A smile tugged on his lips at the enthusiastic admiration. Oh, how he’d missed that! His smile fell.

He missed Mikey.

He stood and left the barn, gazing skyward.

Giant, angry clouds loomed in the distance, casting the land under them in dark shadows.

Yep, it would rain alright.

Donnie went about fetching the keys to the Party Wagon, then got in the said van and drove it to the barn.

Once inside, he parked the van behind the Shellraiser and stepped out, casting a glance at his desk to make sure the solution wasn’t at risk at boiling over.

The knot that formed in his gut at the sight of his work contradicted an odd swelling sense in his chest.

There was that hope again. The hope for his work that had wronged Leo one too many times.

Stomp it out.


	18. Chapter 18

Procuring an atlas of the city proved easy.

Abandoned cars littered the streets, some parked neatly by the sidewalks, some smashed into buildings or lampposts, marking the sudden disappearance of their drivers. 

The fires that had flickered lazily from the engines of some totaled vehicles had reduced to smoke by now, clouding the city in a dangerous haze not unlike the one that had plagued mutantkind’s existence only a few days prior. 

That ominous red-orange fog still rose from the sewer grates in wisps, marking the underground tunnels unsafe for travel, though it had dispersed enough for a mutant to safely walk the streets.

Or at least, it would have been safe, if not for the thousands of hive-minded droids that marched the ground below.

Slash looked down at them from his perch on the rooftop, a few colored highlighters and the said atlas in hand.

Michelangelo stared down, too, from where he rested atop a vent. His head was propped in his hands, cheeks smushed up near his eyes, and he had the enthusiasm of someone on the receiving end of a three-hour lecture about the history of curtains.

Mikey had grown increasingly lethargic over his time at the apartment, and tonight left him especially drained. Or at least Slash hoped tonight’s dull activity was the reason the smaller turtle was so out of it－ as much as Slash insisted he was only caring for Michelangelo’s well-being for Raphael’s sake, Mikey’s apathy grew increasingly concerning.

Though Slash didn’t exactly find the task at hand precisely thrilling, either, they needed to remember where the Kraang switched guard patterns, and how to sneak past each pattern.

He color-coded the map to match the pattern on the street, then he and Michelangelo put their heads together to devise a plan that could sneak them by each group unnoticed. He thought he heard Mikey mutter something about it being an activity only Donnie could find interesting, but did not let the comment deter him.

With their plans to evade the Kraangs’ notice coming into place, the duo moved about the city more and more quickly, encouraging Slash to keep going about the dull task.

They had hit a block where they stood, though, the guard pattern becoming ever tighter and harder to pass as they stepped farther into the territory that the Kraang appeared to be guarding. They’d been puzzling this particular pattern for a few minutes now.

“Do we even know if this is a solvable level?” Mikey whispered. “It’s not like they want us to sneak by.”

A frown tugged at Slash’s mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, Mikey might be right－ an uncommon occurrence, albeit a possible one. The guards patrolled with the intent of keeping intruders out; they hadn’t designed the so-called puzzle with the goal of someone solving it.

“Let’s keep at it for a few more minutes,” Slash replied. “We need to know what they’re guarding, or at least where exactly it is. There are still too many choices in the area we haven’t been able to get past yet.”

Mikey’s eyes flicked up. “I bet the building with all the cloudy things coming out of it is important.”

“Huh?”

Slash squinted against the dark, out towards the horizon.

Sure enough, the clouds emanated from a tall skyscraper, the gas billowing tall before dispersing in the sky.

“You’re right!” he whisper-shouted. “If they’re still filling that building with gas, they must be trying very hard to keep mutants out, which means whatever’s inside is really important!”

“I was gonna say it looks important ‘cause the colorful clouds look like a really obvious checkpoint, but sure. Let’s go with your idea.”

Slash flipped to a page of the atlas that displayed the said building in plain view, and scribbled a giant X over it. He tucked the atlas safely into his belt.

Thunder rumbled out, loud and jarring, and the sky flashed white for a brief second. Light rain started to sprinkle over them, but considering the nature of thunderstorms, it would not stay light for long.

“Come on,” Mikey said, tugging on Slash’s arm. “We’ve done enough for now; let’s get back to the-”

Slash’s flinch cut him off, and with the sudden movement, the bandages wrapping his ugly wound came free.

Mikey squinted at the uncovered arm in the dark, then a bolt of lightning lit it up clear as day for him to see.

The following thunderclap punctuated the moment his eyes went wide, and his jaw, slack.

Slash hurried to rewrap the hideous gash, though he knew anyone could tell the state of it from just one glance.

“I’m- it’s fine!”

“No, it’s not! You’re hurt!”

Robotic beeps followed his outcry, though Michelangelo did not appear to notice.

“No wonder you needed the ointment－ and you only got that little bottle! We need to go back and find another pharmacy,  _ now.” _

More robotic beeps sounded from below, paired with whirring footsteps.

Mikey noticed the movement on the street. “Aw, sewer apples.”

A laser beam shot by where his head would have been had he not ducked it into his shell only milliseconds before. 

More blasts fired at them as they retreated back across the rooftop.

Metal hands appeared over the ledge, pulling their respective robot soldiers onto the roof in calculated movements.

Each of the blasts sought out the mutants as if they had minds of their own, increasing their accuracy even if that of their shooter was mediocre.

“We need to put some distance between us and them!” Slash called as he leapt across a street, alerting the soldiers below to the chase.

The Kraang began to alert each other to the runners, passing the message up through mechanical beeps and tones, until the droids ahead of them were already prepared for their arrival and waiting on the rooftops.

The duo skidded to a halt as a troupe of Kraang blocked their way across the next street. 

Slash, remembering his faulty arms, instead settled for headbutting the first in the formation out of his way, before kicking the rest into each other.

Michelangelo used his distraction to cross onto the next rooftop, where the Kraang were still climbing, and their numbers would be thinner until they all arrived. He drew a nunchuck and struck one across its face, though not as strong as he would have liked, his limbs covered in bruises where the Kraang had latched onto him to drag him into the portal.

Slash joined him in time to see Mikey receive a metal elbow across his face.

The small turtle staggered back, stumbling over himself.

“Come on,” Slash growled through gritted teeth. “We just started; you can’t be this disoriented already!”

Mikey regained his balance and took on the Kraangdroids one at a time, dropping them all at his feet, but not before suffering several blows. He stomped on the fingers of the robot trying to push itself onto the roof, making it fall onto the others climbing up.

He paused, panting.

Slash tried to ignore the knot in his chest. Mikey was a trained fighter; he should be creaming these guys!

“Come on,” Slash urged, “We have to keep moving!”

With that, they jumped over the street, onto a rooftop already swarming with Kraang.

Mikey jumped over them and proceeded onto the next roof without a glance back.

“No, wait! They’ll just-” Slash growled, realizing it was too late, and followed suit.

Now they had Kraang firing at them from ahead and behind.

Mikey noticed, and shot Slash an apologetic look.

Slash roared and swatted several droids away, but their formation had already grown too thick. He couldn’t knock them back far, only back into each other, where they quickly picked themselves up and resumed fighting.

Mikey used his kusarigama chain to pull a blaster out of one of the droid’s hands.

The droid assumed a fighting stance and swung a kick at his neck.

Mikey ducked, the robot’s foot grazing the top of his head. “What the-?” He backed up, mirroring the droid’s stance. It was a familiar fighting stance, one of the most common and versatile ones Splinter had taught the turtles. “Ooookay, they’ve never done  _ that  _ before!”

“AUGH!” Slash fell on his hands, white-hot pain searing through his back. He looked behind him to see the spike of his shell that had been mostly eaten away and ready to fall off, sitting on the ground and smouldering where a laser beam from behind had caught and separated it. The growing rain hurried to quell the smoke. 

He glared daggers at the Kraang on the building behind them.

“Look out!” Mikey cried, running full-force into Slash and sending them both tumbling.

The whine of a missile buzzed by Slash’s ear to explode on the roof where he’d just been.

Orange-red clouds poured out of its remains.

Slash jumped up and pulled Michelangelo out of its path.

“We need to get out of here, fast!”

“Those go fast,” Michelangelo supplied, pointing at the abandoned cars in the street below.

“Come on!” Slash grabbed his wrist and led him towards the fire escape, where they both raced down, hit the ground, and bolted for a grey car run half onto the curb, door wide open and light still on.

Slash flung himself into the driver’s seat of the car and slammed the door behind him, a laser beam reflecting off its window a moment later. 

Mikey hopped in and fastened his seat belt. “I’m so sorry. That was completely my bad. I should have realized they were right there. I’m so sorry. I messed up. That was so stupid of me. Please-”

Slash shook his head. Mikey looked near hysterics. “Alright already! Yeah, you messed up, but it’s not like I’m gonna leave you behind for that mistake!”

Mikey shrivelled at the suggestion.

Oh. Right. Poor choice of words.

He tried to distract them by patting around the car with a chant of “Keys! Keys, keys, keys, keys…”

Mikey pointed to the said object, still in the car’s ignition.

Slash reached for the keys, only to hear the passenger-side door open.

A kraangdroid had opened Mikey’s door and pointed its gun at the side of his head.

Michelangelo shrieked and twisted in his seat to kick it before slamming the door, trapping the thing’s head inside, but its body outside, its neck propping the door open.

Mikey held the door closed as Slash sped the car backward off the curb, crushing a group of droids behind them.

They sped down the streets, unapologetic to the robots they destroyed in their wake－who, to be fair, were still firing at them.

The Kraangdroid’s body trailed behind the car, kicking up sparks against the pavement as it wildly clawed at the car door. Little pieces of metal started to rip off its exoskeleton, then larger chunks of machinery, until finally, the torso fell on the road. At the loss of the weight dragging it down, the head popped up and rolled under the seat, allowing Mikey to fully close his door.

A loud BOOM behind them made Mikey turn in his seat. He peered out the rear windshield. “They’ve got more missiles!”

Slash stomped on the accelerator. He cut the curb at the next street, turning left and speeding onwards.

“What are you doing? This isn’t the way back to the apartment!”

“We can’t go back. They’ll follow us.”

“Then what are we going to do? They’ll follow us anywhere!”

“Not out of the city,” Slash said. “We leave, we’re not their problem anymore. We’ll have to make do somewhere else for the time being.”

The next sharp turn had Michelangelo grabbing his armrests for dear life, but it put them on the main road, leading out of the city.

BAM. A missile landed just behind them, covering the car in clouds all the way to the windshield.

Instead of slowing down, Slash sped up, clearing the area of limited visibility in a matter of seconds.

“But where?” Michelangelo asked.

“I’m up for suggestions! Anywhere but here!”

Mikey sank into his chair. He looked so small. “Well, there’s April’s farmhouse where we went last invasion to take care of Leo.”

“What? Then that’s where they’d seek shelter again! Why didn’t you say so before?”

Mikey hugged himself and stared out the window at the growing rain and receding city features.

“Michelangelo?”

Under the pounding of the rain and the roar of the engine, Slash almost didn’t hear it when Michelangelo gave his almost-whisper of a reply.

“What if they’re not there?”


	19. Chapter 19

It must be time for him to leave. Raphael stood and looked around for someone to watch Leo. 

He had waited long enough. He’d taken note of when it had gotten dark, and kept his vigil over Leonardo until he guessed it was around the time he’d tried to leave two days prior.

Any more time could mean more of a chance for the Kraang to take Mikey and Slash. He wouldn’t have it. He had upheld his part of the deal; it was time for him to go.

He glanced in the living room, but no one was there, either, so he went to go outside. April usually sat on the porch swing out on the lawn to think or take in fresh air.

Seeing the heavy rain that cascaded down the kitchen window, though, he decided she wouldn’t be out there. 

Raph realized that he had heard the rain start quite a while ago, and that he could have misjudged the time because darkness had come early.

A glance at the clock proved his theory, saying he still had about two hours before he was due to go.

The wind roared and the rain grew even heavier, throwing itself against the windows.

He decided his delay could have some benefit; he wanted to get to the city in one piece, and there was no guarantee of that if he went driving in this mess.

The lights flickered.

Raph returned to the dining room and seated himself in front of Leo’s tank. He drummed his fingers on the wood table, head propped in his opposite palm.

The house went dark at once, and the sound of machinery powering down joined the thundering rain.

He heard the shuffling of footsteps from below and above, and his companions spilled out onto the main floor.

“There’s flashlights in the kitchen drawer,” came April’s voice from somewhere behind him, though he couldn’t hear her.

After a few seconds of listening to his friends navigate the main floor, Raph saw a dim light out of the corner of his eye, and a collective cheer that said the group had recovered the flashlights.

Splinter grabbed a chair beside him, placing a light on the table so Raphael could continue to watch over Leo. 

Raph gave a grateful nod.

“Make sure not to open the freezer,” April announced. “Ice Cream Kitty’s in there; we need to keep her cool. Does everyone understand?” She waited for everyone to answer in the affirmative. “Is everyone here? Did everyone get the memo?”

“The only one who isn’t here is Donnie,” Casey said.

At that moment, the door creaked open, amplifying the roar of wind and rain from outside. 

“I’m here. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure no one opened the freezer and let out Ice Cream Kitty’s cold air,” April’s voice explained. “Without the power to keep it going, she’d run out soon if people kept opening it.”

Raphael replayed the sentence in his mind. He felt like there was something about it he needed to register. He gasped and stood. “Leo’s tank! His heater, his filter－ none of it’s working without power!”

Donatello stepped into the flashlight’s beam and approached the tank. “It’s okay. Sensei, could you pick Leo up?”

Splinter made to reach for the tank.

“I meant his person. Or, uh, turtle, so to speak.”

Splinter plunged his hands into the tank’s water and gently pulled the little turtle out. “Is it time?”

Donnie nodded.

Raphael couldn’t see everyone, but he could tell from the sudden change in the air that their attention was on the turtles and Splinter. 

“Keep him safe from the rain as you go out,” Donatello instructed, walking to the door.

Splinter clutched Leo to his chest, using his arms to shield the majority of the little turtle’s shell.

Raphael grabbed the flashlight and followed his brothers and father out the door and into the rain.

The light beams swaying over the ground in front of them to the rhythm of footsteps said their friends had chosen to follow.

Were he paying any attention to the outside world during their short trek to the barn, Raphael would have noticed how uncomfortable it was. The rain soaked him in seconds, chilling him to the bone, and the mud that squished beneath his feet sunk through his wraps, but his mind was so far elsewhere that one of his companions could have later told him that it was a lovely, warm walk to the barn and he would have believed them.

He absently clutched a hand over his chest, as if trying to knead the knot inside away. “Leo…” Happy memories of times spent with the leader in blue flooded into his mind, ones he usually thought of fondly in passing, but now they only seemed bitter, poisoned by the reality that he may never achieve anything like them again.

No. He would, he told himself. He would.

He remembered playing tag as small children, running around in the sewers without a care in the world in the early days while Sensei still shielded them from the harsh world above.

He remembered when they were a little older, and Leo started taking responsibility for their safety, always the first to rush to their side when someone got hurt.

He remembered Leo’s dorky grin as the blue-clad ninja discovered a certain cartoon titled  _ Space Heroes,  _ a show that Raph would pretend to be completely annoyed by for years to come, when really, he would never admit that a small part of him just liked seeing Leo that happy.

He remembered when he and Leo would resolve a misunderstanding after an argument, and Leo would make an effort to spend time with him to let him know that Raph had not severed their brotherly bond with his temper.

He remembered when Leo got thrown through the window-

He remembered when Leo took the retromutagen for him-

Raph shook his head. The absence of rain pelting his skin brought him back to reality.

He realized they had arrived at the barn, and while the rain still poured outside, they were sheltered from it for now.

Raph passed the Party Wagon, then the Shellraiser, before coming to Donnie’s desk at the back of the barn.

A familiar orange substance glowed in its beaker on the desk.

Everyone laid their flashlights down on hay bales and crates surrounding the desk, illuminating the back of the barn.

Donatello cleared a space on the desk. “If you could put him down here?” He spoke eloquently as always, though the softness of his voice indicated he was no less anxious than Raph.

Splinter placed Leo on the cleared spot. 

Donatello grabbed an eyedropper and dipped it into the glowing beaker. “Are you ready?”

Splinter nodded, extending a hand.

Donnie let out a long exhale, then brought the full eyedropper over Splinter’s outstretched hand, and squeezed its contents out.

Splinter cupped the retromutagen in his hands, careful not to let any spill, as it could be harmful to his friends and family. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he doubled over, muffling a cry with clenched teeth.

Donnie instinctively reached out, but refrained from getting close, should any retromutagen spill.

Splinter kept the substance still in his hands, though, until it had all sunk into his skin, at which point he allowed himself to grab his head, trying to block out whatever magnitude of pain was coursing through his every cell.

Retromutation proved as ugly a sight to see as mutation. The body grew and shrunk out of sync with itself, leaving limbs or fingers comically sized until they caught up with the rest of the transformation.

Mr. O’Neil pulled April in against his chest, saving both himself and his daughter from the horrifying scene.

The rest of them stood and stared in a state of shock, or looked on sympathetically, visibly dancing around the idea of stepping in to offer help.

Splinter reached out and used human hands to steady himself against the desk as the transformation reached its end. He took some deep, shuddering breaths, then eased his full weight onto his bare, five-toed feet, and let the desk go, turning to face his companions.

Raphael recognized the man he had seen once before when he and his brothers had gotten stuck in the past. He looked nearly the same as he had then, save for the fact that grey now peppered his head of bushy black hair, and a few more wrinkles lined his face, particularly worry lines.

Without his tall ears, he stood a few inches shorter than his rat form had, and he had no goatee－ or whiskers, in either sense.

His eyes had grown a little darker, but they still had a familiar warmth to them.

“How do you feel?” Donatello asked.

“I feel fine. I apologize if I concerned you.”

Raphael had to remind himself that this moment was real, and not some crazy dream. It almost felt wrong to hear Splinter’s voice come out of that human. He shoved the feeling aside. As the wise man in front of him had once told him, changes could be hard, but adjustment would come over time.

Splinter and Donnie looked at Leo, then exchanged glances. 

Donatello gestured to proceed before clearing extra space around little Leo.

Splinter reached for the tiny turtle and scooped him up. The little turtle gave him a curious look. He petted his head.

“How funny,” Splinter mused. “The first time I did this, I had only intended to keep a pet for company.” He chuckled. “It appears destiny had other ideas.” He set the little turtle back on the desk. “Let us only hope it chooses to repeat itself.”

Donnie knelt by the desk and slid one of the drawers open to release the green glow of the contents inside into the barn. As he produced the canister of mutagen, its pigment lit up the barn’s ceiling. When he placed it on the desk, Leo stepped closer, the canister reflecting in his black eyes and its light casting the tips of his face and shell in neon.

Donatello twisted the top cap, making the canister hiss, the air announcing the arrival of the world-changing substance.

And oh, Raphael thought, how it would change their world tonight, for the best or worst.

For the best, he told himself.

It  _ had  _ to be for the best.

Donatello picked up a second eyedropper and dipped it into the mutagen. As he slowly moved it over to Leo, a single drop wiggled dangerously at its tip.

Donnie held it over Leo, watching the drop grow larger, forming raindrop shape. It grew and swelled, wobbling as its connection with the glass thinned.

Then it fell.

It splattered on Leo’s shell, neon green against brown and black.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, the little turtle began to grow, twisting and contorting not unlike the retromutation Raph had just witnessed.

The turtle grew bigger and bigger, shifting and writhing in pain.

Raph saw it when Donatello grabbed onto the retromutagen.

The mutating turtle grabbed his attention a second later when Leo screamed something unintelligible. 

The figure clawed at the desk on hands and knees, his form warping, changing.

Then, like Splinter’s transformation, it slowed, leaving the undergoer shaking with heavy breaths.

The mutant turtle shifted into a seated position on the desk and surveyed his surroundings. He stared right at Raph.

He looked just like Leo.

Raph smiled, but then remembered what Donatello had warned him about. Even if Leo turned out the same physically, there was no telling what he’d be like mentally.

Leonardo observed the barn’s features. He didn’t seem to know where he was. He looked at each of them in turn, becoming more visibly worried with each person he saw around him. He hugged himself, trying to shrink from their collective gaze.

“Oh no,” Donatello breathed. The genius motioned for them to slowly back up.

They all did so, giving Leo more space as he looked around and shrivelled under their stare. No one dared breathe.

Then Leo opened his mouth. “Uhhhhh… did I miss something?”

The barn went wild. One moment, Raph could hear a pin drop. The next, he could have sworn a firework went off in his ear. Shouts of joy and cheers and exclamations mingled in the air, all incomprehensible amongst each other. 

Poor Leonardo jumped back, more confused than ever. 

Raphael ran into him full-force, squeezing him so hard Leo’s eyes just about popped out. 

Leo hesitated, shaking his head in utter bewilderment, before returning the gesture with an awkward pat. He watched the celebrating people over Raph’s shoulder, completely oblivious as to what the occasion might be.

Raphael let him breathe again, backing away with an ear-to-ear grin. He laughed wetly and wiped tears from his cheeks.

Splinter put a five-fingered hand on his shoulder. “It is good to have you back, my son.”

Leonardo gaped at him like a fish, then caught himself and forced his jaw to close.

“Ah, yes,” Splinter said, unfazed. “There will be time for explanation.”

The noise had died down some by this point, allowing muffled sobs to draw their attention.

Leo stood, big brother mode activated, and rounded the desk. “Donnie!” Leonardo knelt by his weeping brother on the ground and pulled him into a hug. “Donnie, what’s wrong?”

Donatello grabbed onto him for dear life, burying his head in Leo’s shoulder and clutching his shell with white knuckles. “It- it was almost impossible! It shouldn’t have been possible!”

Fat tears rolled down Leo’s shell, though they were not his own.

“I thought you were done for! I thought we lost you forever!”

Leo still looked as baffled as all get-out, but he held Donnie close, trying his best to soothe his little brother despite not knowing the problem at hand.

While he comforted Donnie, everyone came to give him a nod or a pat or say that they’d missed him, until Mr. O’Neil suggested they leave the immediate family alone to talk and sort things out.

Donatello calmed down to sniffling, but made no sign of letting go of Leo, so Raph and Splinter sat beside them while Leo traced patterns into Donnie’s shell.

“What is going on?” Leonardo asked.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Raph inquired.

Leo’s brow furrowed. “We went to the Kraang lair to investigate their activity. Then they mutated Traag, and… and I remember getting into a fight.” He shrugged. “The rest must be lost to the heat of battle.”

“You had Donnie try to throw his retromutagen onto Traag,” Raph said. “But it got spilled on you.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “So I’ve been a regular turtle from then until now?”

Splinter nodded.

“Oh no. How long has it been?”

“Almost a week,” Raph said.

Leo clutched his head. “Ugh, deja vu. At least it hasn’t been as long as… as last time.” He chuckled. “Well, at least we don’t have to deal with a Kraang invasion this time!”

Raph frowned and made a pained noise while Splinter sadly shook his head.

“NO.”

Raph rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeeaaahhh, a lot has happened since you’ve been gone.”

“How far are they?”

Donnie sniffled. “At least the first phases.”

Leonardo growled and kicked at a flashlight laying on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” Donnie said.

Leo raised a brow. “Sorry for what?”

“For making the retromutagen that almost…”

“No, Donnie,” Raph interjected. “It’s my fault. I was the one who wasn’t looking.” He turned to Leo. “If I’d been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have had to jump in front of the retromutagen for me.”

“What? No! That’s neither of your faults! I chose to take the retromutagen. That was my choice. Mine. No one else’s. You did exactly as you were supposed to to the best of your ability, and you should be proud of that.”

“So you remember?” Donnie asked.

“Yeah.” Leo rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand. “What happened since then… it’s coming back to me, in bits in pieces. My brain majorly feels like it’s still sorting itself out right now.”

“Then you should get some rest after your questions are answered,” Splinter urged. He looked pointedly at Donnie and Raph. “All of you.”

Leonardo nodded at him, then knitted his brow. “So you’re human again because…?”

“Donatello had to turn me back in order to obtain my original DNA for you.”

“So let me get this straight. I got unmutated, then a Kraang invasion started, then we fled and I’ve been stuck as a regular turtle until just now when Splinter turned back into a regular human to turn me back?”

Donatello let him go and sat up with another sniff. “Basically.”

Leo nodded slowly, processing the information. “Oooookay.” He stood and started for the exit. “Then I should probably go tell Mikey I’m okay. Where is he?”

They met him with silence.

Leo froze.

“Guys,” he repeated slowly, as if they’d misheard him, “where is Mikey?”

Raphael opened and closed his mouth, reaching out like he aimed to comfort Leo, though Leonardo stood too far away.

Leo turned to face them. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his pleading eyes.

Splinter found his words first. “Michelangelo was separated in the fight. We had no choice but to leave him behind.”

“ _Leave him behind?”_ He stepped towards Splinter. “We don’t leave anyone behind! That’s our first rule!”

“It wasn’t his fault, Leo!”

Leo, Donnie, and Splinter looked at Raph upon his outburst, the latter two evidently shocked by his words.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Raph said. “The Kraang have this mutant-hunting gas they used to separate us. We all would have been killed if we went back for him. There was nothing we could do.”

Leonardo surveyed him.

Raphael held his gaze. Leo would know he, out of everyone, wouldn’t let Mikey go unless there really was no choice. Leo would believe him. Raph knew the eldest’s anger didn’t truly stem out of any blame on Splinter, or anyone else for that matter, except perhaps himself. 

Splinter gave Raphael a nod.

Raphael returned it.

Leo let the matter drop. “Do we know if he’s…?”

“No clue.” Donnie shook his head.

“Then let’s not stand around any longer. We need to go back as soon as possible. Let’s get started.”

“Leonardo.” Splinter walked forth. “You have only just returned to us, so your eagerness to focus on the task at hand is quite understandable. But your brothers have been working long and hard and need their well-earned rest.”

“But we need to-” Leo leaned around Splinter and examined his brothers before quickly cutting himself off.

Raphael realized the leader must have noticed for the first time how exhausted they really were. Donatello’s eyes were so dark he might as well have been a raccoon, and Raph assumed he mustn't have looked much better himself.

“Okay. Rest for tonight. But we need to start planning as soon as everyone’s awake.”

Splinter gave a hum of agreement.

Just the mention of a night’s rest made Raph want to sit down in the hay right there in the barn and sleep. Better that than going all the way back to the house, through the rain and mud…

Apparently, everyone else had other ideas, though, as they started for the farmhouse again, and Raph turned the flashlights off and followed soon after, too tired to trouble himself to carry them all.

They wiped the mud off their feet and went inside.

The warm, dry air encompassed Raph like a blanket. He hadn’t found such comfort in the farmhouse for the duration of their stay, but Leo’s presence made comfort feel… allowed. Like they had come this far, and even if they were still a long way from taking New York back, it was like they had already come halfway. Getting Leo back was still a small achievement comparatively, but beside him, their victory felt all the more within reach.

Even so, it stirred some uneasiness within Raph to allow himself to relax when only one of his lost brothers had returned to him. Like it was wrong for him to ease up when one was still out there.

But they had made it so far. They were one step closer. And Raph was so, so tired. So tomorrow, he would pick up all his motivation to return his baby brother to the family, and his long-lost pet, too, but tonight, he deserved a break.

Raph hadn’t even noticed Donnie’s momentary absence until the genius returned to hand them each a towel. He took the one offered to him with a sleepy mumble that could have been taken as gratitude and wiped the rainwater off.

Leo let out a hiss of pain and pulled his towel away from his shell. He tried to peer over his shoulder at the weakened area.

Donnie examined the patch of shell on Leo’s carapace just under his shoulder, which Raph assumed wasn’t an easy feat, considering the lack of light. 

“You suffered a minor case of shell rot,” Donatello explained. “It might be sore, but it shouldn’t do you much harm. I’ll examine it in the morning just in case. Just be sure not to put pressure on it.”

Eyes adjusting to the light now, Raph could see Leo trace the affected spot, up to his shoulder where his swords usually rested.

Feeling the absence of his weapons, Leo put a hand to his face. “My mask… my swords...”

“They probably got left behind when you were unmutated,” Donnie said. “We had to leave in a hurry.”

Raph produced Leo’s mask from his belt and handed it to the leader.

They stared at the object in his hand, then at him.

“The rest of your stuff’s in a compartment in the Shellraiser,” Raph said as nonchalantly as he could. No use in them making a big deal out of it; it was only right someone saved Leo’s things, right?

Leo took his mask and fastened it. “Thank you.”

Raph shrugged.

Leonardo patted his shoulder, and turned to Donnie to make sure he knew he was being addressed, too. “You should be getting some sleep.”

Donnie glanced upstairs, then back at Leo, and although he didn’t say anything, it became clear that he didn’t want to leave the blue-clad turtle’s side.

Leo tipped his head toward the living room. “Come on.”

He led his brothers to the couch, where they sat on his either side.

Donatello slumped against Leonardo’s side, and the weight of many restless days’ and nights’ work instantly dragged him into a deep sleep.

Leo petted the genius’s head, smiling fondly, and held out his other arm to Raph, offering to wrap it around him in the same comforting gesture he held the genius in.

Any other day, Raph would have scoffed and waved him off, but he was too tired to pretend, and the promise of long-awaited comfort was too great, so he allowed himself to pillow his head on his big brother’s shoulder.

“‘S’good t’ have you back, bro,” Raph slurred.

Leo’s response was to wrap his arm around Raph’s shell and pull him in close.

Raphael knew better than to assume Leo would get much sleep. Raph himself hadn’t gotten much the first night Leo had been unmutated, or any of the nights after, and Leo was only now realizing that one of his brothers was missing.

But they were getting there, one step at a time.

So Raph closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away while he was safe in his brothers’ company.

***

Slash pulled into the farmhouse’s driveway and tried his best to observe the house, though the heavy rain made it difficult, as hard as the windshield wipers might try to clear his view. He turned the wipers up a notch, which did the job, though not without loud squeaking.

He turned to Michelangelo to see if the sound disturbed him, but Mikey stayed asleep as he had been the majority of the trip, leaning over the dashboard with his head in his arms.

Slash refocused on the house, and his heart sank.

There were no vehicles parked outside. There were no lights on inside. Sure, it was night and any inhabitants would have long since turned off the lights before retiring to bed, but there still should have been  _ something－  _ the faint glow of the digital clock on a microwave, perhaps, or an indicator light on a heater or other electronic device saying that it was receiving power－ but no. The house was pitch dark, which could only mean one thing.

No one was there.

Slash gave his slumbering companion another glance. He thought Michelangelo would have been anxiously awaiting their arrival for the entire journey, but exhaustion quickly overtook the freckled turtle, despite his more-than-plentiful rest at the apartment.

Slash could no longer ignore it. Mikey’s separation from his brothers was weighing on him. The boy’s fighting skills had suffered from his condition, too, otherwise they would have stood a better chance against the Kraang. How were they to have any hope of defeating their enemies if Michelangelo’s condition worsened?

Which, it certainly would if all hope of finding his family was dashed, especially considering Mikey seemed to hold himself responsible for their departure.

They needed a second base, but even more than that, they needed hope that they could defeat their enemy.

So, adhering to his promise towards Raphael, Slash did what was best for Mikey.

He backed up, turned around, and left.


	20. Chapter 20

At first, Leonardo could convince himself he’d managed to drift off.

Images rolled over his closed eyes, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he congratulated himself on managing sleep despite his circumstances. It was this consciousness of his state of mind, though, that tipped him off to the fact that he wasn’t really dreaming.

He found the alternative quite unwelcome, though, and tried to prove to himself that he actually  _ was  _ dreaming by trying to open his eyes.

To his dismay, his eyes easily opened at his command, proving that he was still awake. The images were not dreams.

His sight had adjusted to the darkness a little, and he could see the silhouettes of his slumbering brothers on his either side. Well,  _ two  _ of his brothers. He held those two brothers tighter, like if he didn’t, they might disappear, too.

The second thing that he wanted to convince himself of but couldn’t was that they would wake soon. 

Leo’s anxiety to get moving towards returning back to the city and finding Mikey pushed a surge of adrenaline through his heart and veins every time he thought he was just about to settle down, dashing any hope of real rest. Any such adrenaline had since worn off from his younger brothers, though they would try their best－had always been trying their best－ to retrieve their missing family. As much as Leo wanted to wake them and get started, they had been working nonstop and deserved as much rest as they could get.

Knowing Donnie’s unhealthily strict worth ethic and Raph’s sleeplessness when someone was in danger, that probably meant they would sleep well into the day after reaching the much-strived-for checkpoint of returning Leo.

The eldest turtle found himself growing ever more restless as the minutes ticked by, but he would remain by their sides for their sake. He resigned himself to close his eyes once more and let his head fall back against the sofa. He tried to focus on the patter of the rain, though it proved less easy, as the weather grew gentler by the minute.

More images danced across his eyes, ones that he’d been forced to recognize not as dreams, but as memories.

The memories he’d retained from his time prior to retromutation were clear as day now. The ones he regained from his time as a regular turtle proved to be… different. He realized it had taken him so long to recognize them as memories because they  _ felt  _ like dreams. 

His perception of reality as a tiny turtle must have been significantly altered; those memories almost seemed modified, like a movie. They didn’t feel like  _ his  _ perception. The images and the feelings attached were much too… simple.

He remembered feeling indifferent, most of the time, sometimes excited, sometimes scared, never conflicted. It was much too uncomplicated to be him.

Yet, in each of the memories, he saw the telltale glare against glass that told him he was in an aquarium of sorts. That must have been what the guys contained him in.

But much alike a dream, dreams tended to fade easily. Nightmares stuck around. And his “nightmares” as a turtle were the first things he remembered.

_ “Well, congratulations! You protected Splinter Junior. Way to go! I hope you’re happy with the son you chose, because Donnie’s working himself to death, and Mikey might be-” _

Raph’s outburst had driven him to hide behind one of the rocks in his tank. He had just been a little turtle, scared of some fight that could endanger him.

Watching the scene for the second time, fear for his own safety was not the main reason the sentence struck his heart. Would Mikey have been saved if not for him?

He tried to replay the memory once more to answer his question, but others flooded into his mind, all times he’d been scared.

He remembered bits and pieces of their fight for New York, and flight from it, mostly when his tank had been unsettled and he had been afraid of flying out. Only bits and pieces entered his mind, but he quickly got the gist of it.

He remembered when Raph had pounded the table, not realizing it would upset Leo, and recalled Raphael’s apologetic expression afterwards, although at the time, Leo hadn’t read it as such.

Then the “nightmares” were over, though the memories to follow didn’t tug at his heart any less.

Raphael watched over him, talked to him. His words were distorted through water and memory, but Leo could still hear his voice. He sounded so broken.

Leo caught brief glimpses of Donnie’s exhausted face, and he subconsciously gave his slumbering genius brother a comforting pat, inviting him to stay deeply at rest for as long as he needed.

His brothers had gone through so much in the time he’d been gone. Leo cursed himself for not being there.

He didn’t regret taking the retromutagen for Raph. His immediate younger brother deserved to stay how he was, how he’d worked so hard to be: strong and reliable. Leo knew however tough and uncaring the hothead might act, everything he did, he did to be there for his family. Leo wasn’t going to let the retromutagen take that all away from Raphael.

But he cursed himself for not being there for them, too. If only they hadn’t left Mikey behind for his sake. Mikey would have cheered them up in an instant; would have made sure they got enough to eat and didn’t overwork themselves.

But he was gone.

Leo held his brothers closer, reaching out spiritually to the youngest, hoping, praying, he was still there to receive his message. 

“Guys…” He whispered into the unhearing room. “I’m so sorry.”

***

Leonardo sat in silence as a few hours passed, not wanting to disturb his brothers. Eventually, the horizon out the window lit up in hues of red and orange.

Orange. He hadn’t seen that color in a long time.

The bright, sunny color seeped into the room and itched at Leo’s every nerve. It felt cold.

Leo couldn’t take it any longer. Slowly, he slid his right arm out of Donatello’s grasp, and used it to reach for a cushion atop which to rest the genius’s head in place of his leg, which Donnie must have claimed as a pillow some time while he was deep in thought.

Donatello made no indication he’d noticed, continuing to let out whistling snores through the gap in his teeth.

Leo took his arm from around Raphael’s shoulders as he stood. He jumped when Raph stirred, but the red-clad turtle presently stilled, letting his head fall to his chest.

Satisfied his movement had not disturbed their rest, Leo made his way to the front door and stifled the hinges’ creaking as he opened it. He stepped out into the summer morning and walked off the porch. 

The earth was soft under his feet, and its smell hung fresh in the air, reminding him of the recent rain. 

Tire tracks in the dirt road near the front caught his attention. He approached them halfway, concluding them to be recent from the fact that the rain hadn’t washed their detail away. They spelled a U-shape; whoever had come had promptly left. If he remembered correctly from last night, both vehicles were in the barn. No one they knew would have made those tracks.

Leo reasoned that someone must have lost their way out in the middle of nowhere and used the driveway to turn around, or else pulled over to wait out the worst of the rain.

He walked to the barn, avoiding the various mud puddles that littered the lawn along the way, and climbed aboard the Shellraiser.

The Shellraiser had very few compartments, and it didn’t take him long to find the one inside which his swords and wraps were tucked away, just as Raph promised. He fished them out and went about dressing in his usual gear. 

While it was hardly enough to make a dent in the knot in his chest, the familiarity of the swords’ weight on his shoulder provided some comfort. Even though he knew they were nowhere close to going back to New York, it was like gearing up for another patrol. Like in a few minutes, he and his brothers would go to the surface to save the day.

Leo returned to the farmhouse and crept through the door. He closed it as slowly as he could, letting it ease back into place with a gentle click.

Shuffling somewhere in the house drew his attention. With a knitted brow, he peered around the corner into the dining room.

Raphael scurried around the dining room, popping his head through each doorway in what Leo settled on calling a controlled panic.

Raph came to stand in front of the empty tank resting atop the table and stared intently into it from several angles. He looked stressed; restless, like whatever worry struck him had sapped away any sleep he’d gotten.

Raph moved on from the tank and saw Leo in the doorway.

“GAH!” He jumped. Then he smiled. “Leo there you are!”

Leonardo decidedly didn’t like the relief he heard in Raph’s voice. He looked from his brother to the tank and put two and two together.

“Were you… looking for me?”

Raph’s smile slipped, but Leo didn’t get an answer, as Donnie came tumbling into the room.

“Raph, are you alright? What happened?”

Donnie’s appearance had hardly been improved, either, and Leo desperately hoped it was because this was the first time he’d seen his brothers in decent lighting.

The bags under Donnie’s eyes said he still had a lot of sleep to make up for.

So much for not disturbing his brothers.

“No, I’m fine,” Raph said. “I just…” He gestured towards Leo. “You scared me. Ninja stealth.”

Leo raised a brow.

Donnie sat down and cupped his jaw in his hand. He blinked slowly, eyes willing to keep themselves closed.

“You can still go back to sleep, you know,” Leo said.

Donnie waved. “Nah. M’up now. Just need to… really wake up.”

Leo nodded and looked towards the kitchen. Mikey would probably be up in a few minutes to make Donnie his morning coffee.

...Or not, Leo remembered.

The day was really off to a good start.

He busied himself with trying to make the coffee for Donnie, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t his job.

He had to read the instructions, and considering his history, he was more likely to set the kitchen on fire than make Donnie a decent cup of coffee.

Luckily, Mr. O’Neil came downstairs at that time and rescued him, taking matters into his own hands.

Leo went back to the dining room to find that Splinter and Rockwell had joined his two brothers at the table.

Wow, human Splinter would take some getting used to.

“Good morning,” Leo greeted with a nod.

“Good morning, my son,” Splinter replied. “How are you feeling?”

Leonardo seated himself at the table. “My mind feels like it finally sorted itself out－ mostly, at least. Really, I’m more anxious to get started than anything. We have so much to do, and with so much at stake.”

Splinter considered his words and shifted his gaze to Raphael and Donatello. Upon seeing his other sons’ still-exhausted faces, a frown tugged at his lips, though he didn’t object to Leo’s haste to make progress.

Leo supposed this was because Splinter had known the middle siblings long enough to know better than to expect their complete restfulness.

Donnie gave a grateful nod to Mr. O’Neil as the man offered him a mug of coffee, and took a long sip.

Splinter reached to stroke his beard, faltered for a moment in remembering its nonexistence, and settled on reaching higher to stroke his chin. “We have been focused on retrieving you for so long. I am not even sure what the logical next step would be.”

“First order of business is making sure everyone is healthy and readjusted,” Donatello chimed in. “I should check on your shell; make sure it makes steady progress towards healing.”

The thought of delaying them further irked Leo, especially at Mikey’s expense. He clapped a hand over the infected area as if to hide it. “Don’t worry about me! It’s- I hardly know it’s there. I’ll be fine.”

Donnie tilted his head. “Leo, I know you’re worried about Mikey, but you’ll be much more able to help him if you’re healthy.”

“Of- of course, I just… I…” Leo trailed off. He looked at his brothers. “What exactly happened? How did he… how did we lose him? I… I need to know how likely it is that he’s actually…”

Donnie looked at Raph as if to exchange glances, but Raph turned away, keeping his face hidden.

Donnie sighed, and addressed Leo. “The Kraang had filled the sewers and streets with mutant-cell-eating gas, so we retreated to the rooftops to avoid it. But they followed us with weapons that locked onto our DNA signatures, and the gas was rising fast. We panicked and fled as fast as we could. Mikey must have gotten left behind in the chaos. I saw him fighting alongside me on one rooftop, then when we got to the meeting point, he wasn’t there anymore. We tried to go back for him, but the fog blocked all possible ways back.”

Leo shook his head. There were so many places Mikey could have gotten lost, so many possible things that could have happened to him depending on exactly where he was, and they didn’t know where.

He gathered himself. No use dwelling in the past. “Then we need some way to combat this fog and the weapons.”

“I’ve already been developing a solution for that,” Rockwell chimed in.

“Excellent! Donnie can help you.”

Rockwell held his hands up with a forced smile. “That’s really not necessary. I can do it on my own.”

Donatello joined Raphael in the act of hiding his face.

Leo raised a brow. “Are you done with the solution?”

“No, but I do not require assistance.”

“This is a time-sensitive matter,” Leo reminded him. “Believe me when I say Donnie is more than qualified for the job. You’ll work faster with two heads figuring out the same problem.”

“Ah. Fantastic,” Rockwell said through what Leo could have sworn were clenched teeth.

Interesting. Had the two had some sort of disagreement? Leonardo considered going back on his order, but decided against it. If they were at odds, they needed to get it sorted out before their trip to New York.

“What about everyone else?” Raph asked. “What can the rest of us do?”

Leo hummed. “Well, we left our weapons stash in the city. You might want to think about what you’d do if your only weapons broke in a fight.”

“I have been forging new weapons since our arrival,” Splinter said.

“Great! Tell everyone who doesn’t have a task that we have training in an hour. We need to be prepared and ready for our return.”

Splinter stood. “I shall take inventory of what I have made so far. I believe we may be short on shurikens.” He went to leave, stumbled, and collapsed.

Leo, Raph, and Donnie hovered by his side in an instant.

“Sensei, are you okay?”

Splinter picked himself up. “I am sorry to have concerned you, my sons. I am fine. After fifteen years, this body is not entirely familiar. Forgive my clumsiness.” He dusted his knees off. “Perhaps it would be best for me to join you in training.” He adopted a smile, half reassuring, half taunting. “While I am temporarily disadvantaged, it may be the only time you boys have a chance to beat me at sparring.”

Raphael mirrored his smirk. “You’re on!”

“Then let’s get started,” Leo said.

Being back in his gear and having a plan made him feel better.

It was good to be back.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!  
> It has come to my attention that I formatted "Ink and Crayon" as well as the end of "Fighting Our Enemy, Fighting Ourselves" in such a way that made it difficult to read. I re-formatted these this week, so they should be easier on your eyes now.  
> Have a great day!

Slash stood in a sunlit meadow, taking in the sights and sounds that the city never graced him with. It startled him at first, hearing all the bugs and woodland creatures, but as time ticked by, he grew accustomed to the sounds.

The smell of rain still hung in the air, and its beads to the blades of tall grass. A creek rushed in the distance. The sun shone warm. Still, he found the serenity of it all did not calm him.

Slash glanced back towards the road. He’d parked the little grey car off the side of a winding back road, where it currently sat.

Michelangelo would wake any second now.

The younger turtle had not been doing well, and the news of his family’s absence from the farmhouse would devastate him. Mikey knew about the plan to stay at the farmhouse, though, and when he woke, he would realize that there was a reason he and Slash hadn’t arrived.

But Slash couldn’t put him through that just yet. Not while Mikey was in this state.

He would stall as long as he could. He just had to find an excuse to explain their delay.

And he had to find it now, he realized, hearing the car door open.

Mikey stepped out and approached him, taking in the scene. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t ask about their location right away, Slash hoped.

“Where are we? Why aren’t we at the farmhouse?” Michelangelo stared up at him with wide, scared eyes.

So much for that.

“The engine overheated,” Slash lied. “I’m letting the car rest for a few hours.”

Mikey nodded.

Slash held in a sigh of relief. “So… until then, why don’t we train a little?”

Best for Mikey to practice his skills while he still had the motivation. Once Slash couldn’t stall any more and Michelangelo found out the truth, who knows when the next time he’d practice would be? The poor guy had been languid even when they were cooped up at the apartment.

Mikey observed Slash with a grimace, and Slash caught his eyes flicking to the somewhat-open wound on his arm.

“I’m fine,” Slash snapped.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Look, it doesn’t have to be intense. Just something to wake up and get the blood pumping. It’s good not to be trapped in that apartment anymore, isn’t it?”

Michelangelo latched onto the positive. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty wide open out here. So much more room!”

Slash stepped further into the field and assumed a fighting stance.

Michelangelo shrugged and came to join him.

They spent a good, long time sparring. With two injured fighters, it wasn’t nearly as tough and in-your-face as Slash would have liked (Leatherhead was usually his only worthy opponent), but it served its purposes.

Gradually, both turtles dusted off some of the cobwebs that came with spending so long without a training space, and learned what styles of fighting didn’t agitate their respective injuries.

But after a while, Michelangelo asked, “Do you think the engine is cool enough yet?”

“No,” Slash answered too quickly. Fortunately, Mikey didn’t seem to notice. “No, it needs a little more time.”

Mikey peppered in the same question throughout their training, more and more frequently.

Slash dismissed it time and time again. Find another excuse. Stall. No, it still needs a little more time. No, on a hot day like today, it will take longer than usual. No, I think the car is low on coolant, so we should let it cool completely before we go, just to be sure.

Eventually, the duo tired, and Michelangelo could no longer keep his focus on fighting. His attention drifted constantly towards the car, and Slash sensed his window for stalling had come to an end.

At very least, he’d accomplished what he came out to do.

“Alright,” Slash said. “Let’s go.”

Mikey looked at the car, and for a second, looked unsure. Then he got back in the passenger’s side and waited.

Slash sat behind the wheel and took them down the road. He’d only parked a few miles away from the farmhouse－ really, they could have walked there from the meadow, not that he’d tell Mikey.

Michelangelo fidgeted in the seat beside him.

“Are you alright?” Slash asked.

“What if they’re not there?”

Slash repressed a strangled sound.

They weren’t there. That was Michelangelo’s worst fear, and he was about to see it realized.

But to continue on, they had to come to terms with scenarios that would not occur, things that would not happen, people who would not help. To make a good plan to move forward, Mikey had to know what he could not count on.

Slash answered honestly. “Then we’ll keep moving forward and do the best we can.”

“I’m scared,” Mikey said.

A week ago, that would have annoyed him. Slash would have asked Mikey why he was telling him this and told him to bother someone else with his problems.

But today his words stung.

So Slash said, “I know.”

They pulled into the driveway.

Slash brought the car closer and closer to the farmhouse, watching Mikey’s expression out of his peripheral vision all the while.

Michelangelo glanced around the driveway. No other cars.

A frown tugged on Slash’s lips when a scared squeak emanated from beside him.

He stopped the car and got out. Mikey followed.

The duo walked up the porch to the door, and stared at it.

Slash gestured for Mikey to go in.

For Michelangelo to move on, he first had to know what was behind him.

Mikey didn’t go in, but raised his fist to knock. His hand hovered over the door.

“Well?”

Mikey backed up. “I… I can’t do it.” He turned around and started for the car. “This was a mistake.”

How tempting it must be, Slash realized, to hold onto a little hope when everything pointed to hope being lost; to not confirm his worst fears, and hold onto a chance, however improbable.

Slash held out a hand to stop Michelangelo from leaving the porch, and knocked on the door himself.

***

Raphael listened in on Donatello and Rockwell conversing about their plans. He hoped to get an idea of how soon they would finish their project, but most of the technical jargon was lost on him.

Leonardo stood beside him, apparently listening for the same.

Training had just ended, and everyone was on the ground floor, finishing up a late lunch or chatting.

“There’s no rush on their part,” Leo said as if reading his mind. “Everyone is a little out of practice, especially Splinter and I. We need to get ourselves back on track.”

“There absolutely is a rush! The sooner we go, the sooner we can save Mikey and Slash.”

“Guys!” April called from a front window. “There’s a car coming down the driveway.”

At her words, all of the mutants went to go up or downstairs.

Despite the remoteness of the farmhouse, it wasn’t unusual for someone to occasionally come to the door－ a boy scout looking to sell popcorn, or a friendly neighbor greeting the O’Neils.

Either way, everyone knew the drill: the humans were to keep any visitors on the ground floor while the mutants quietly found ways to busy themselves in the upper and lower floors.

While Mondo and Leatherhead ducked into their familiar basement shelter, Leo, Raph, Donnie, and Rockwell trudged upstairs, reducing their conversations to whispers.

Once the four were safely out of sight, Raph pulled Leo aside. “We have to go back as soon as possible. Otherwise-”

April screamed.

Stealth forgotten, the four made a mad dash for the stairs, practically bowling each other over in the process.

“April!” Donnie yelled, pushing his way through first. “What’s wrong?”

They took the stairs three at a time, and it still wasn’t fast enough.

Raph watched Donnie’s expression as the genius turtle made it all the way to the ground floor, rounded the corner, and saw whatever must have caused April’s distress.

Donnie’s eyes went wide, and his face slack. “Holy chalupa.” He bolted forward.

Raph’s heart pounded in his ears. What? What was happening? He jumped all the stairs between him and the floor and skidded on the wood.

He saw and stared.

April stood off to the side, tears pouring down her face, grinning ear-to-ear with her hands clasped in front of her face. Mr. O’Neil held a hand on her shoulder, alarmed and a little confused.

In the middle of the room, Donnie and Leo hugged each other, holding onto one another for dear life.

But wait, hadn’t Leo been behind him?

Raph looked beside him to see the leader in blue gawking at the scene.

Donnie pulled away and cupped the tear-stained face of his shorter brother in his hands, letting Raphael see that it was not Leo, but-

“MIKEY!”

Raph charged forth and hugged his little brothers with force that almost pushed the three of them to the ground.

Leo joined the group hug, laughing.

“Donnie? Raph? Leo?” Mikey’s watery voice asked, like he didn’t really believe they were there. 

Raph didn’t blame him. The moment felt so surreal. He could be in this second in time, and wake up to a cold and empty world the next. He only prayed this was real, that fate wasn’t playing some cruel trick on him. If it was, he would have some very rude words to say to fate.

But even if he did wake up soon, he would make the moment last now, and he reassured Mikey for both of their sakes. 

“I’m here, Mikey,” he said at long last. “We’re all here.”

Apparently, his words did the trick, because Mikey leaned into them, burying a face graced with a peaceful smile.

“Welcome back, my son,” Splinter said.

Mikey heard his voice and pulled away from his brothers to offer a hug in the direction of his father’s voice, only to stagger back, his eyes bulging in almost theatrical shock.

Leo, Donnie, Raph, and Splinter, shared a laugh, the already euphoric mood causing them to double over with mirth, in some cases.

“It is me,” Splinter confirmed with outstretched arms. “I suppose we have some catching up to do?”

Mikey shook himself free of his stupor and wrapped his arms around his father.

Raph wanted to talk to his little brother again the second Splinter let him go, but Leatherhead and Mondo had patiently been waiting to greet him since they’d come up from the basement.

Leatherhead had apparently had enough waiting, and picked Mikey off the ground to envelop him in strong arms, to Mikey’s delighted giggles.

Raph heard another familiar voice and turned towards the door, where Rockwell and Slash chatted amiably.

“Slash?” Raph raced to him.

“Raphael!” Slash offered him a fist bump, which he enthusiastically accepted. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again, brother!”

“I- I’m really happy to see you, too! How did you- what happened? How did you find us?”

Slash rested a hand on his shoulder with a chuckle. “I’m sure everyone will want to hear the same thing in a few minutes.”

“I know! There’s so much I want to ask you!”

Raphael turned towards laughter and whooping to see Mikey picking up both Mondo and Casey and spinning them around.

Well, the youngest turtle was probably almost done greeting everyone, and Raphael had a lot he wanted to ask him, too.

Raph approached Mikey, who grinned at him.

“Good to have you back, little brother.” Raph playfully slugged his shoulder, only to jump when Mikey winced.

Raphael looked at Michelangelo’s arm, and his grin slipped.

Bruises splotched his little brother’s skin.

“Mikey! What happened to you?”

Upon hearing his tone, Donatello and Leonardo were immediately at his side. They could have teleported there, for all Raph knew.

Donnie gently pulled Mikey’s arm to examine it for himself. “What did  _ this _ ?”

“Oh yeah. The Kraang tried to kidnap me.”

Raph’s blood boiled. Those disgusting little-!

“But I’m all good, bros!” Mikey rushed to say.

Raphael shook his head. When they went back to New York, he would teach those brain blobs such a lesson.

“Uh, you might wanna take a look at Slash’s arms, though. I’m just sore. His are… worse.”

Both Donnie and Rockwell gazed at Slash, who talked with Mondo.

“Oh, I see it,” Rockwell said. “There’s some redness around his elbow. Was it dislocated?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said, “But I was talking about his other arm. And his shell.”

Rockwell started. “Great Scott!”

Raph craned his neck for a better look. And oh boy, he did  _ not  _ like what he saw. His fists curled by his sides. “Did the Kraang do that, too?”

“Yeah.”

Raph swore to make them wish they were never born.

“Slash,” Rockwell called. 

Slash hummed and met his gaze.

Rockwell waved him over. “Allow me to inspect your arm.”

Slash’s expression darkened. “It’s fine, I can get by.”

Rockwell quirked a brow. “It is quite clearly infected.”

Slash grimaced.

“It requires immediate attention,” Rockwell growled.

Slash followed Rockwell to the kitchen.

Raph glanced from Slash to Mikey. To have either of them leave his sight so soon felt nothing short of cruel. He settled on grabbing Mikey’s hand and dragging his little brother to the kitchen doorway so he could keep an eye on both at once.

Donnie and Leo tagged along, Donnie stepping into the kitchen to assist Rockwell.

After fetching the appropriate supplies and laying them on the counter for Rockwell to use, Donnie inspected Slash’s shell.

“Wow… was this the gas?”

Slash nodded.

Donatello gave the weakened, semitransparent spot on Slash’s shell an experimental poke. “This… isn’t good.”

“What?” Raph asked.

“This part of his plastron is very weak. It won’t provide much protection; a lot of his vital organs could be shut down with one hit. It’s like a human without ribs.”

“Great,” Slash growled. 

Rockwell’s eyes grew wide. “Then that means he won’t be able to fight.”

“You had better believe I can still fight!”

“You shouldn’t even be moving either of your arms right now! Speaking of, Donatello could you hand me that cloth, I can turn that into a sling－ thank you－ Slash, you can’t put yourself at risk in this state.”

Donnie backed up beside Raph.

Raph couldn’t say he blamed him.

“Then how am I supposed to help you take New York back?”

“There are other ways to help than fighting. We cannot risk you going into battle this injured.”

“Well, when are we going back? How long are my arms going to take to heal?”

Rockwell gave him a pitiful look. “It’s not your arms I’m worried about.”

Turning his attention back to his brothers, Raph noticed Donnie reaching out to him.

Donatello’s hand hovered over Raph’s plastron, his eyes on the lightning-bolt chip that permanently scarred Raph’ shell.

“Donnie?”

“It’s been fifteen years,” Donnie murmured.

Raph’s brow creased, but when Donnie looked from Leo’s shell to Slash’s, he put two and two together.

“You mean their shells might never heal?”

“Yes.”

Raph started.

“I mean! Not necessarily! I mean, there’s a chance that-” Donnie sighed and muttered, “Wow, I’m really not helping my case here.” He collected himself with a breath. “My point is, I, um…” He glanced at Slash and Rockwell, who were still bickering amongst themselves (happily more than angrily, although their words still had weight), and satisfied that his only audience was his brothers, pressed on.

“Ever since things with the Foot and Kraang got… serious... after we went to the surface and we started getting more injuries, I, uh… I started to get really scared. It was my worst fear that one day, I might have to perform surgery on one of you under your shells in order to save your lives. And… if I ever had to do that… shells take years to heal. It would be a choice of whether to perform the surgery or not, because in some occasions, the surgery would be more dangerous. I was so afraid of making the wrong call.” His voice broke.

Raph leaned in as to not miss a word. In all his years, Donatello had never spoken on the matter once, and it was clearly weighing on him.

Of course, as someone who wasn’t in charge of anything medical save for patching up his brothers’ minor scrapes, the train of thought was easy to avoid for Raph. Donnie didn’t have that luxury, and Raph found himself wondering how many sleepless nights the genius had suffered because of the issue.

“Anyway,” Donnie said after composing himself again, loud enough to cut through Rockwell and Slash’s conversation for them to hear, “I started developing a salve specifically designed to speed up the cell reproduction process of shells in particular. I don’t think I have to go into all the reasons why tampering with cell processes is risky, thus why I had to get the formula perfect as to not result in any… undesirable side effects, but I found a solution that I’m confident is safe.”

“Great work, Donnie!” Leo said.

For some reason, Donatello looked perplexed at his brother’s praise.

“So where is it?” Rockwell asked.

Donnie sucked in a breath. “It’s in the lair. The formula, too.”

Rockwell pursed his lips. “And I take it it’s too risky to recreate without the formula.”

Donnie nodded.

Rockwell sighed and put the medical equipment away. “Slash, how often were you able to clean your wound?”

“Uhh…”

“Well, the infection is definitely something we need to keep a close eye on,” Rockwell said, “But with treatment and watchful care, it should be fine. Be sure to get a lot of rest.”

“Lots of rest. Those are words I could stand living by right now,” Donnie said.

Raph agreed. While they still had a long way to go, some of the pressure was finally off. They had their entire team, and they had a plan. Rest now would be a lot more… well, restful. Raph was pretty sure Leo hadn’t slept a wink last night, and Donnie still resembled a raccoon.

As for Mikey, he was recovering as well.

Raphael looked at his youngest brother and once again felt his blood boil at the sight of all the bruises.

But he was there, and he was safe. Raph would make sure of that this time.

Raph pulled his youngest brother into a hug. Mikey warmly returned the gesture, nuzzling into what Raph assumed was some of the only affection he’d gotten in a long time.

Raphael opened his arm to invite Donnie in, and he held both of his little brothers in his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Mikey,” Donatello said.

So much Donnie had gone through and not told them. Raph would have to keep an eye out for him.

Raph beckoned Leo in, and for the first time in weeks, he held all of his brothers, right here where he could protect them.

Yes, from now on, he would protect them. No enemies would separate them now. He swore it. 

It had only been a week. Right down to the time of day, it had been exactly one week since Donnie had uncovered the Kraang plot that drove them all to the facility where Leo met his fate. Where their family had first become separated. Just one week. 

And it had still been altogether too long.

For the first time in too long, Raph smiled, and he didn’t feel guilty for smiling.

So he smiled for a little while longer.


	22. Chapter 22

Donatello awoke to the sensation that a lot of time had passed since he’d fallen asleep. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his memory of the previous day flood back, allowing a smile to tug at the corners of his lips.

His family was together now. His family was safe.

Donnie sat up and stretched before taking note of his senses and surroundings.

He felt so much better, no longer weighted down by the slow, creeping agony of deep exhaustion, though sleepiness still hung in his mind. It was probably his brain complaining about the irregularity of oversleeping and therefore disturbing a complete sleep cycle, making the waking world still seem drowsy.

Huh. Oversleeping. That was a change of pace.

It probably didn’t help that the warmth engulfing him made it tempting to lay down once more and drift off again.

Donnie noticed the blankets nestled around him, as well as the figures of his slumbering brothers, all piled together without any rhyme or reason, too sick of being separated to mind the awkwardness of the weird knot of limbs and pillows.

Or at least two of his brothers, Donnie realized.

A light scraping sound alerted him to the location of the third.

Michelangelo stood in the doorway, humming softly and whisking the contents of a mixing bowl.

Enticing as it was to stay, Donatello disentangled himself from the blanket burrito and stood. “What’cha making?” He mumbled, sleep hanging too heavily over him to allow him to separate the sentence into three coherent words.

“Pancakes,” Mikey replied.

Donnie quirked a brow with a smile. “At this time in the afternoon?” He didn’t have to look at a clock; the angle of the sun’s rays through the window told him the time.

“You and me are the only ones up, bro. Not like anyone will know the difference. Everyone’s first meal of the day.”

True enough.

Donatello settled on the couch while he willed his brain to free itself of its fog.

As if reading his mind, Michelangelo ducked into the kitchen and retrieved a mug of coffee for his genius bro.

Donnie welcomed the mug, for once finding the familiarity of the routine more soothing than the presence of caffeine. “Thanks, bro.”

Mikey beamed and sat beside him, mixing his batter all the while.

They drifted into comfortable quiet, Donnie nursing his coffee (which, unlike how Mr. O’Neil made it, no offense to him, was just how he liked it), and Mikey taking in his brothers’ presence.

Donnie noticed he seemed to be observing one brother in particular, and wondered if he should ask where Mikey’s mind was at.

Mikey gave his answer unprompted. “I’m so glad he’s back.”

Donatello nodded. “Yeah. Leo gave us all a scare.” He knitted his brow. “I don’t mean to pry, but it seems like you weren’t really surprised to see him yesterday. I thought you’d be over the moon to find out he’s back to normal.” He only realized after the words were out that Mikey could take them the wrong way. Like he was scolding him for not being more grateful for Leo’s return.

Fortunately, Mikey looked unbothered. “Of course I’m thrilled to see him! I’m thrilled to see all of you, to know you’re all okay. But… once I knew you guys were here, I guess I wasn’t  _ surprised  _ to see him.”

Donnie blinked. Not surprised? Leo had been unmutated. His situation was unprecedented. There was no preexisting data on his condition to know what options they had or how likely they were to work. Donnie had done the calculations himself. Leo’s odds of returning had been infinitesimal.

“Why not?”

Mikey looked Donnie in the eye. “Because  _ you _ were the one trying to bring him back.”

For a full few seconds, Donnie’s mind went completely blank.

How?

How could he say that?

Donnie looked over his expression for any hint of insincerity.

None.

Mikey’s faith in him usually warmed him. Usually.

But Leo’s condition had been nigh impossible, and the thought of how crushed－how distrusting－ Mikey would have become had fate not taken that miniscule chance sent a shiver down Donatello’s spine.

“Mikey…” Donnie stared him down, tried to make sure his baby brother knew he was serious. “Leo’s condition was very unstable. If the solution I took hadn’t worked, there would have been nothing I could do for him.”

“You said the retromutagen was almost impossible before you made it, too. You didn’t let that stop you.”

“I’m serious. I can’t fix every impossible thing.”

Mikey gave him a sidelong look that wordlessly but clearly said  _ suuuuuuure you can’t. _

Donnie suppressed a humorless laugh. No wonder he had let his experiments get so out of control, with delusional support like this.

He became uncomfortably aware of Leo’s yawn and stretch; the eldest would likely be guilty about any talk of Donnie’s hopelessness of the situation, limiting the points Donnie could bring up.

“But wait,” Donnie asked, “If you knew I’d fix it－which, again, shouldn’t have been possible－ why were you so upset?”

“Well, I didn’t know how long it would take to bring Leo back,” Mikey replied, and Donnie realized Mikey hadn’t noticed Leo waking. “And, uh… besides. It’s kinda my fault he got unmutated in the first place.”

“Is  _ everyone  _ gonna blame themselves for this?” Leo asked, making Mikey jump. “That was my decision. No one else’s fault.”

“Leo! Ha, ha! Didn’t see you there, bro.” Mikey looked at the batter. “Welp, people are waking up. I gotta get these pancakes started. Gotta go!” He retreated to the kitchen, creating enough distance between them that Leo would have to yell and risk waking Raph to talk to him, but staying in line with the doorway so his brothers were in his sight all the while.

Leo and Donnie exchanged the same unspoken thoughts with a glance: keep an eye on him.

During the next few minutes, the house filled with life as people got up and slowly went about their morning tasks－ or what would have been their morning tasks, had they been on a regular schedule. They moved about sluggishly, but there was a warmth about each of their demeanors that hadn’t been there the majority of the week.

Donatello supposed it was time for him to start working, and headed through the kitchen on his way to the front door.

Mikey looked up from the pancake he was flipping onto the ever-growing stack. “Aren’t you gonna eat, bro?”

Donnie started to decline the plate Mikey hastily made and shoved towards him, but caught himself.

When he’d been busying himself with task after task, it had been easy to lose track of his senses, but now that he thought about it, he really was hungry.

He accepted the plate and sat down in the dining room, where many of his companions had settled to await their meal.

Mikey came in just as everyone had arrived and set down the heaping stack of pancakes in the middle of the table.

It was the best time Donnie could remember having in weeks.

They chatted and joked and laughed, the air of euphoria bleeding over from the previous day.

With so many people, some of whom, like Donnie, were only hungry after some of the tension had settled, the pancakes quickly disappeared.

Mikey took the plate. “I’ll go make some more.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. O’Neil asked. “I wouldn’t want you to work too hard on your first day back. I can make a second batch.”

Mikey laughed. “Hey, pancakes are one of the few things I can’t screw up.”

Donnie and Mr. O’Neil both gave him a searching look.

“It’s not work to me,” Mikey added. “I’m happy to be helpful.”

Before Donatello could say anything, Michelangelo left for the kitchen.

He didn’t stay away for long, though. As soon as he’d gotten the ingredients in the bowl, he was back in the dining room, hovering nearby and listening to the happy conversations filling the room.

Donnie shrugged and dismissed Mikey’s odd phrasing. After all, it made sense Mikey would want to make sure everyone got their fill. If anyone in the family could be deemed a reliable host, it was the party dude, and he had a tendency to make sure everyone ate enough to keep up their strength (the more he thought about it, the more Donnie realized he was probably the reason his little brother had developed that last habit).

He found it a little much, though, when Michelangelo insisted on making them a third batch－ amount of company considered, it wouldn’t go uneaten, but even that was a lot of work for someone who was just starting their day.

When Mikey left for the kitchen, Slash leaned over and addressed Donatello.

“Hey, I wasn’t up until just before breakfast,” He murmured. “Do you know if Michelangelo overslept much?”

Donnie couldn’t think why Slash would want to know, but found no reason not to offer him the truth. “I don’t know. He got up before anyone else, but we’re all up late, so…”

“Up before anyone else? That’s good.”

Donatello knitted his brow. “Why do you ask?”

Slash cast a wary glance towards the kitchen. “He’s been really out of it lately, if my memory of what he used to be like is to be trusted. He’s… sluggish. Tired.”

Mikey waltzed back in with the batter, humming to himself all the while.

“I guess it was being trapped in New York,” Donnie thought aloud, straightening his posture to erase evidence of a murmured conversation.

Slash’s description set warning bells off in Donatello’s head, but it didn’t line up with the orange-clad turtle energetically whisking the batter.

Hopefully whatever issues Slash was describing had been left behind in the city.

“Sensei, can you pass me the syrup?” Leonardo asked.

Splinter reached over, the bottle in his hand, and fumbled with it. Leo and Splinter went into a few frenzied seconds of clumsily trying to catch the bottle but only succeeding in repeatedly batting it back up into the air, until they both hit it at the same time, trapping the bottle between their hands but consequently shooting Leo directly in the face with a stream of syrup.

Rockwell and the O’Neils politely stifled their amusement towards the blue-clad turtle whose lips were now pulled in a long, straight line－his telltale expression of internal agony－ but Raph and Casey had no qualms about cackling at him.

“I am very sorry, my son,” Splinter said, though he was audibly trying to spare Leo from the humor creeping into his own voice. “I am still readjusting to this form.”

“No, me too. It’s all good, Sensei.” He dabbed at the syrup with a napkin. “I’m gonna go wash off real quick.” 

Mikey’s smile slipped, and he stopped mixing to watch him go, and stared off where he’d left long after Leo was out of sight.

Donnie furrowed his brow and turned to look down the hall, but found nothing spectacular about where Mikey stared. 

He turned back to trace his little brother’s line of sight again, but found that Mikey had gone stiff, tapping at the edge of the mixing bowl.

The orange-clad turtle let out a breath and tried to reroute his focus to the batter once more, but kept glancing off where Leo had disappeared.

Donnie looked around the table, trying to gauge if the air had changed.

Everyone still carried on their conversations, all smiles and laughter.

“I’m back,” Leo said, returning to his chair.

Mikey visibly relaxed, shot a smile at the leader in blue, and continued with his pancakes.

Donatello got the sinking feeling Mikey hadn’t left his issues behind after all.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fanart @theturtleartist9 made for this story!!!  
> https://theturtleartist9.tumblr.com/post/644401893091704832/heres-some-original-artwork-for-the-story-how-to
> 
> She's also a writer on this platform and is currently writing a thrilling Donatello-centric piece, so if you're a Donnie fan, be sure to check out her story: Drowning

“As much as I would love to keep this social,” Leonardo said once everyone had finished their breakfast (or dinner, depending on how he looked at it), “we need to start thinking about how to move forward.” He addressed Slash and Michelangelo. “Has anything changed in the city since we left?”

“Where do I start?” Slash searched his brain. “Well, for starters, it’s empty now. Everyone has either fled or been kidnapped.”

Mondo gulped. “ _ Everyone?” _

Slash nodded. “Unless we missed a few stragglers. The city is as bare as it was last time.”

April piped up. “I heard about that over the radio. It was just a few people at a time going missing, though, not a complete and obvious takeover. Are we sure this is the Kraangs’ work? It doesn’t seem like their style.”

Donatello knitted his brow at her words. He clasped his hands under his chin and thought.

“Oh, they have been going  _ way  _ out of their usual style, dude! They were doing ninja combat moves and stuff.”

“We thought it wasn’t them, too, at first,” Slash admitted, “But then they snuck into the apartment where we were staying. Crept up to Michelangelo from behind and tried to pull him in through the portal.” He indicated said ninja, who examined the resulting bruises on his arms. “We were able to fight them off because the city was quiet enough at that point that we heard the portal open, but if the city was as loud as it usually was? It would have been a stealth attack.”

The table went silent as the implications of his words settled in.

“This… is not good,” Mondo said.

“Indeed,” Rockwell agreed. “This means they are adapting.”

Raph crossed his arms. “I guess Donnie was right,” He said, though the genius didn’t acknowledge it, too deep in thought. “They found out that trying a different thing every time wasn’t getting them anywhere, so they tried adjusting the same ones. But… why change to be more like  _ our  _ style of fighting?”

“Because we’re the ones who keep beating them,” Leo realized. “They recognize us as better fighters.”

“Aww yeah!” Mikey said. “Ninjas the best!”

“That’s bad, Mikey!” Raph growled.

Michelangelo backed up, a horrified expression coming over his face. 

Before Raph could ask Mikey what his problem was, Donnie stood and slammed the table.

“THE CAMERAS!”

Everyone jumped. Mikey ducked his face into his shell.

“I KNEW something about that building was fishy! Can’t believe it took me so long-!” Donnie got up from his chair and walked a circle around the room before coming to slam his hands on the table again and address his companions.

“You remember that Kraang building we broke into last week? The one Leo got unmutated in?”

“How could we forget it?” Raph deadpanned.

“When I got the message that led us to that building on the Kraang communication orb, it felt almost too easy, like they  _ wanted  _ us to find the facility! Because they did!”

“But they were running the experiments to mutate Traag,” Leo said. “They were in the middle of it. Why would they want us to find them?”

Donnie jabbed a finger at him. “They  _ didn’t.” _

Raph shook his head. “You’re losing us here, Donnie.”

Donnie pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, not-” He gestured for emphasis as he launched into his explanation. “What if the building we infiltrated was housing  _ two  _ experiments? I mean, what were the odds we were going to find the  _ one hidden passageway  _ that led us to the room hosting Traag’s mutation?”

“So you think the other Kraang weren’t a distraction to lead us away from the entrance?” Leo asked.

“No,” Donnie said. “If the communication orb hadn’t gone off, they would have been able to do the mutation completely under our noses. Why draw our attention to the building unless they  _ wanted  _ us there?”

“But why?” Raph asked.

“Do you remember all the cameras?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said. “There were like, a gajillion of them.”

Donnie nodded. “And you remember how strangely the Kraang were set up to patrol?”

“It was like solving a slightly harder puzzle every time,” Leo confirmed.

“Exactly. They wanted to see how we’d react to every pattern, every situation, how we’d fight, how we’d adapt, how we’d function. They wanted us there to study us!”

Splinter and Leo exchanged a glance.

“This is very dire,” Splinter said. “If the Kraang are learning your techniques, then they will be much more dangerous enemies.”

“Not only that, but they’ll know what sorts of patrol patterns you have the hardest time getting by,” Slash added. “Which is probably why Michelangelo and I couldn’t figure out the patterns closest to the building.”

“Patterns? Building? What building?” Leo asked.

Slash pulled the atlas from his belt and flipped through it. “The Kraang have been patrolling the streets in groups with different strategies, depending on what block they are on. The closer you get to a certain building Michelangelo and I discovered, the more difficult the patterns become to break.” He found the page he’d been looking for and set the atlas on the table. “We have been trying to form strategies to sneak by each pattern unnoticed, but we haven’t been able to come up with anything to pass the Kraang in here.” He traced a chunk on the map with his index finger. “They seem to be guarding this building right here,” he tapped a specific square on the map, “Which makes sense because that weird fog is still coming from that building. Whatever’s in there, they  _ really  _ don’t want anyone messing with it.”

Leo slid the atlas closer to himself and propped his elbows on the table, staring searchingly at the pages.

“Any idea what the Kraang might have done with the humans?” Donnie asked.

Slash shrugged.

“You said they’re trying to improve their failed plans from earlier,” April offered. “Maybe they’re trying to make them work in dimension X again?”

Donatello nodded. “It’s a good possibility.”

“These colors and symbols on the map－” Leo pointed around the atlas “－you said they’re the Kraang’s patrolling patterns?”

“I made note of what I used all the separate colors for in the front cover. All the different timings and numbers and stuff.”

Leo flipped to the front and started following the said notes.

Doctor Rockwell smirked. “Slash, I’m impressed. This is a very thorough experiment and analysis.”

“Yeah, well, I learned the best from you, Doc.”

“Wow,” Donnie breathed, reading over Leo’s shoulder. “That’s a lot of Kraang.”

“The map should let us get by unnoticed and move quickly,” Slash said. “We’ll need to save our energy for fighting the heavily guarded streets.”

“Still, I wish there was a way to take them all out at once,” Donnie said. “It would be nice to not have to worry about them catching up to us, in case any of the other ones call for backup.”

Leo looked up at him, considered his words, and scratched his chin. “Hmm…”

“Got an idea, fearless?”

“I think we  _ can  _ take them all at once.”

“How?” half the room chorused.

“These timings-” Leo tapped the atlas “What if we didn’t use them to avoid the Kraang? What if we used them to fight them head-on?”

Raph crossed his arms with a nod. “I’m listening.”

“Every block that’s marked, we know exactly when the Kraang will be where. What if we set up an elaborate trap across the entire marked section that will go off and take down all the Kraang at once? Then the Kraang in the highly-guarded areas would have to cover for them, thinning out the areas we need to get past.”

“But what kind of trap could do that?” Raph asked.

Leonardo turned to Leatherhead. “Leatherhead, when we, uh…  _ borrowed  _ the power cell from you, you had a clever system of traps to guard it. You seem like the logical person to turn to. Any ideas on what we could do to the Kraang?”

Leatherhead’s eyes gleamed with bottled fury at the mention of the enemies who had hurt him several times too many. He pondered the robots’ fate for only a moment before answering, “Spikes.”

Leo blinked. “O- okay, that’s a good start.”

“He’s onto something,” Donatello said. “With all the different patrol patterns, the easiest solution may be to create launchers for spear-like projectiles to impale the Kraangs’ main circuitry. The angles of the launchers could be easily calibrated to match the distance at which each robot travels.”

“And you’d be able to set them all off at once?” Leo asked. “If not, the surrounding droids could catch wind and disrupt their usual patterns.”

Donnie hummed. “We’d need some sort of radio transmitter, but it’s quite possible to launch them all remotely.”

“Great! Do that. How long will it take you?”

Donnie sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “It’ll be a few days, minimum. I need all the parts, and some time to engineer all the launchers, not to mention enough ammunition for all of them.”

“Then you had best get started on that right away,” Rockwell immediately put in. “I will worry about the fog. Do not worry, I work just fine alone.”

Donatello did not protest, but glanced at Rockwell with a wounded expression. 

“I can sharpen metal into spikes for you,” Leatherhead offered.

“As can I,” Splinter said.

Donnie nodded. “Thanks. I’ll get you some of my chemistry tools and whatnot to start with. That metal is already made to last; it will make some pretty strong spikes.”

Splinter tilted his head. “Donatello, will you not need your tools for your own endeavors?”

Donnie emitted a fake laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be needing them anymore.”

“Red and I can get some metal from the scrapyard for ya,” Casey added before anyone could question Donnie.

Mikey grinned and bounced on his feet. “Sweet! Leo, what can I do?”

Leo studied him, eyes flicking to the discoloration on his little brother’s arms. “You… why don’t you take it easy for another few days, alright? Just… focus on getting better.”

Mikey stopped grinning. “Getting… better?” He repeated to himself.

“Aside from that, training will be every day until Donnie and Rockwell are done with their work,” Leo announced. “Anything else?”

When no one had anything more to add, they started filing out little by little, going about their daily tasks.

Mikey kept a close eye on all of his brothers, though none of them made a move to leave.

Donnie shifted on his feet for a moment, thinking. Then he said, a little too loudly to be normal, “Leo, Mikey hasn’t seen Ice Cream Kitty yet! You should show him how well she’s doing!”

“But… he’s capable of seeing Ice Cream Kitty without me- hey!”

Donnie shoved Leo and Mikey towards the kitchen.

Leo glanced at him with a questioning look, to which Donnie mouthed  _ keep him busy. _

Mikey seemed alarmed by his sudden (forced) departure, but looked around at all of his brothers from his new place in the kitchen, and shrugged it off.

Donnie waited until Mikey had opened the freezer door and was happily reuniting with his pet before turning to Raph and beckoning him out of earshot.

“That was  _ weird, _ Donnie. What are you up to?”

“I needed a distraction. He’d never let us far from him otherwise.”

Raph furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you notice how anxious Mikey got when Leo left the room? How he’s never let us leave his sight since he got here?”

“Well yeah, but he just got back. He missed us, Donnie. He was scared. He’s just being a little extra clingy right now, that’s all.”

Donnie shook his head. “I think it’s more than that. I think our leaving him behind, intentional or not, might have really traumatized him.”

Raph glanced out to the kitchen, poorly masked concern dawning on his face. He returned his attention to Donnie, suddenly holding onto his every word. “What do we do?”

“I need to work in the barn today, and unless you and Leo want to hang out in there for the next week, we need to get him used to not being around all of us all the time. I need you to keep him distracted until he subconsciously gets used to being alone.”

Raph sighed and crossed his arms. “I get where your head’s at, but he just got back. If he really is scarred, shouldn’t we give him time to heal  _ before  _ we do something that could make it worse? I mean, isn’t it too soon?”

Donnie held his gaze. A long pause stretched out.

“Yeah. It is.” Donatello observed his younger brother from afar. “But we can’t delay going back to New York forever. And as much as I hate to rush this?” He sucked in a breath. “It’s even uglier to think about what could happen to him if we have to split up and he breaks down in the heat of a war against the Kraang.”


End file.
